Someone Like You
by Raquelita
Summary: The door to the Hog's Head opened, pulling Hermione away from her thoughts as a cold gust of winter air entered the bar. She glanced up from her firewhiskey, and almost choked. Three years after his disappearance, Draco Malfoy walked through the door.
1. After three years

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but oh how I wish I did.**

**This is my first foray into the world of Dramione - please R&R!**

Hermione sat quietly on her stool at the Hog's Head, a glass of straight firewhiskey in her hand. For the first time in years, she felt completely lost.

From the outside she knew it didn't seem that way. She had just secured the coveted position of healer in St. Mungo's Dark Magic division. It was a dream come true – working to help those who had been damaged by the worst curses and spells known to wizard kind. It was what she had been striving for since leaving Hogwarts. The pay wasn't stellar, but it was enough for her to afford her own flat in London, one that was within walking distance of Harry and Ginny's.

Hermione really had it all. She had wonderful friends, her dream job, a place of her own … but she felt more alone than ever. Taking a sip of her firewhiskey, she reveled in its sharp burn. Well, she'd wanted something that would do the job.

The truth was that nothing had been right since she and Ron had split up. Since she'd given him the space he'd asked for, and he returned to her a different man entirely. A man she didn't know, a man who didn't treat her the way he used to … a man who couldn't even say he loved her anymore.

Taking another long drink, Hermione willed the tears in her eyes to disappear. Six months – it had been six months and she was still thinking about him. She hated that. It didn't seem to matter how many dates she went on or how many times she woke up promising herself to start over and forget the past. It didn't matter that she'd cut off all of her hair in an attempt to recreate herself. She just couldn't shake the memory of the three years she'd been with Ron Weasley.

The door to the Hog's Head opened, pulling Hermione away from her thoughts as a cold gust of winter air entered the bar. She glanced up briefly from her firewhiskey, and almost choked.

Draco Malfoy walked past her as if he didn't even see her and took a seat a few stools away. Hermione tried not to stare at him in the dim light of the bar, but it was difficult. No one had seen Draco in three years – not since his father was sent to Azkaban and his mother was sent to a prison in Lithuania called Lokneid. He hadn't been officially punished by the ministry for his involvement in the war, but word spread quickly, and everyone knew Lucius and Narcissa's son. A few months after the war Hermione had heard that he'd left the country. She assumed at the time that he would never come back. Surely he could never show his face again.

And yet here he was, sitting in the Hog's Head and ordering a glass of firewhiskey that matched her own. She snuck a glance at him again. Yes, it was definitely Malfoy. His blond hair looked longer and unkept, and a steady 5 o clock shadow was growing on his jaw, but she would know him anywhere. Finishing off her glass in one gulp, Hermione did something that surprised even her.

"Malfoy?"

He didn't seem to hear her over the din of the bar, which was full of the sort of wizards Hermione would have normally called 'less than reputable'. Tonight, she just couldn't force herself to care.

"Malfoy," she said more loudly, getting up and taking a stool closer to him. He looked up as she sat down, and his eyes widened.

"Granger?" he sounded incredulous, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that question?" Hermione's boldness surprised her. "No one's seen you in years, Malfoy. We all thought you'd gone for good."

"You had to have been happy about that," he said bitterly, helping himself to his drink.

Hermione shrugged, unsure of what to say. Despite Draco's past, she had pitied him when his parents were locked away and he was left alone in the world. He disgusted her in every way, but she still hadn't been able to help that ounce of pity. Ron and Harry had told her she was crazy. She probably was.

Ordering another drink from the bartender, Hermione wondered why she had even approached Malfoy. Curiosity had gotten the better of her, she supposed, and that much she could blame on the firewhiskey. Curiosity rarely surpassed logic in the mind of Hermione Granger. Then again, sometimes she felt like she barely knew herself anymore – maybe this was how she acted now.

"So," Hermione began cautiously, "Where have you been?"

Draco shrugged, "Does it matter, Granger? Do you honestly give a damn?"

He turned to face her for the first time, and Hermione felt slightly unnerved. His blue eyes pierced through her, and she fought the urge to look away. This was not the Draco Malfoy she remembered. This man was different. Hermione could sense his desperation.

"I just want to know," she replied, well aware that that wasn't much of a reason. "There were a lot of rumors going around. Some people said you'd fled with other Death Eaters to Russia, others said the ministry was behind your so-called disappearance, and they had exiled you without public knowledge. Other people figured you just plain ran away."

"Well, I've always been good at that haven't I?" Draco remarked with a cold laugh. He took another drink, "And what about you?"

Hermione looked at him questioningly.

"What did you think happened to me?"

She shrugged, "I just assumed you went to go live with some other part of your family."

Draco laughed again. Hermione didn't like the sound of it - it was hollow and strange.

"I don't have any family, _Granger_," he finished the rest of his firewhiskey and ordered another, "They're all locked up or dead. Cowards and weaklings, every last one. And that's what they raised me to be."

Hermione finished her own glass, unsure of what to tell him. Her immediate response was to offer some form of reassurance, but it took only a few seconds of thought to know that Draco was right. He had been a coward. A bully without an ounce of courage. Hermione felt the color rush to her cheeks as she remembered what kind of a boy Draco Malfoy had been. She looked at the man before her and wondered if he was still the same way.

"You were despicable," she said quietly.

"I know."

"I hope you hate yourself."

The words were out of Hermione's mouth before she realized what she had said. It was one of the cruelest things that had ever passed through her lips. Part of her wanted to take it back immediately. Another part of her still burned with anger and what Malfoy had done – and what he hadn't done, out of fear.

"Of course I hate myself," Malfoy replied, "That's why I left. Too spineless to stand up and deal with the magical community's opinion of me, too spineless to kill myself … I just ran away."

Hermione was silent for a moment. _Too spineless to kill myself_. His words gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Had it come to that? Had he seriously considered death, and thought himself a coward for living? As much as she'd hated Malfoy, Hermione found herself feeling sorry for him now. Slowly, she put her hand on his arm. She expected him to pull away, but instead he simply looked at her.

"It took more courage to live than to kill yourself," she said simply.

They looked at each other for a moment, and Hermione wondered if Malfoy was as confused as she was. This entire encounter felt strange to her. One moment she wanted Malfoy to hate himself forever, the next moment she was trying to comfort him. It didn't make sense. She hated him. Of course she hated him. But … that didn't mean she wanted him dead. And she didn't want him to feel like he should be dead. She put down her glass.

"Well, I've clearly had too much," she remarked, trying to get away from the subject. "And you still haven't told me where you've been?"

Malfoy shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Granger. It just doesn't matter."

"Are you back for good?"

He shrugged, "No idea."

Hermione bit her lip, looking at Malfoy again. He looked so … lost. Not the cocky boy she'd known at school who took such pleasure in tormenting her. Not the young man who'd been fighting for the wrong side in a war.

"Why are you even talking to me?" She asked finally.

"Why?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, "I want to know why. At best, I expected you to ignore me when I came over here. At worst, I figured you would hex me out the door."

"Then why did you bother coming to talk to me at all?"

"Curiosity."

Malfoy nodded, "Can I buy you another?"

"Excuse me?"

"Another drink," he motioned to her glass.

Hermione stared at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Are you going to poison it?"

Malfoy let out a short laugh. Short, but real. Hermione wasn't sure why she got a slight feeling of relief when she heard it. Perhaps she'd been beginning to wonder if the man before her was anything but the walking dead.

"I'm not going to poison it," he said, "I just …." He paused for a moment, looking at Hermione with an intensity that made her feel uncomfortable.

"I'm just offering to buy you a drink," he said finally.

Hermione considered his proposition for a moment. She knew she didn't need another one. She'd knew she'd had enough. But that didn't stop her from wanting another.

"Okay," she said.

Malfoy ordered two more firewhiskeys from the bar tender and put one down in front of her.

"This has got to be one of the strangest things I've ever done," she remarked, taking a drink.

"Yeah," Malfoy replied, "Me too."

He gave a shrug, "But it's better than drinking alone."


	2. Just for one night

**A/N: Chapter two, yay! Thanks to those of you who have reviewed/added this to your alerts so far – it means a lot! **

**Disclaimer: Still own nothing.**

"_Can't you promise me anything at all anymore?"_

_Hermione stared hard at the man sitting across from her. The summer sun burned her eyes, and she shaded her face with her hand as she waited for his answer. _

"_I … I just don't know, Hermione."_

"_That was the entire point of our break, Ronald. You told me you needed to sort things out. Now here you are, telling me you're no closer to figuring out anything. How long will this take?"_

_Ron put his head in his hands, frustrating radiating from him. Hermione felt the same way. Frustrated, confused, angry … everything about her seemed to hurt. _

_Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "Okay, so you're still uncertain about things. I understand, Ron. I'm not asking you to marry me tomorrow, or in a year, or even in five years. But for the past 3 years of our relationship you've been telling me that I'm the one for you. That you can't wait to marry me. We looked at engagement rings, Ron! We talked about wedding dates. If you're not ready for that now, okay. Fine. I will wait for you. But I need to know that I'm waiting for something. I can't commit to waiting if you can't promise me that I'm still the one for you."_

_Ron looked up at her, and Hermione saw tears in his eyes. She was glad there was no one around to see them sitting on the park bench – she could feel tears prickling her eyes too. _

"_I don't know anymore, Hermione," Ron whispered quietly, "I just don't think I feel the same as I used to."_

_Something inside of her froze at those words. It seemed impossible that Ron was uttering them. That after 3 years of absolute certainty, he suddenly didn't know. The two of them had always "known". That was what had made their relationship so incredible. So special. So untouchable. _

_Hermione took a deep breath. "In that case," she said, "I suppose it's over between us."_

_They both sat in silence for a moment, tears streaming down their faces._

"_I thought for sure this was it," Ron said finally, "That we were it."_

"_Me too," Hermione replied. There was nothing left to say. It was over. She couldn't believe it was over. _

"_I should go," she said, standing up and slinging her purse over her shoulder. _

"_What … what do we do now?" Ron asked._

"_Nothing," Hermione said, taking a deep breath to keep her voice from wavering, "We say goodbye. If I ever want to talk to you again, Ron, I'll talk. Please don't contact me. You've –" tears choked her voice, "You've broken every promise you've ever made to me. I know you can't help how you feel, but … you've destroyed everything."_

_With those words, Hermione hurried away. When she was safely hidden from muggle view, she apparated back to her apartment. Collapsing on her bed, she cried harder than she even thought possible. _

Hermione woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. Her face was streaked with tears. Wiping them away, she glanced at her alarm clock. Five in the morning. Her head was killing her. With some effort, she got out of bed and padded to the kitchen, getting herself a glass of water and an aspirin. Better to head off the hangover now then deal with it in three hours when she had to get up for work.

As she stood silently at the kitchen sink, Hermione mulled over her conversation with Draco Malfoy at the Hog's Head.

Shit.

Malfoy.

The memory hit her like a ton of bricks at the same time the sight of a haggard looking man sleeping on her couch met her eyes.

She'd forgotten that she had offered Malfoy a place to stay for the night.

Looking back, it was one of the stupidest ideas she'd ever had. Inviting a man who used to be a Death Eater to stay at her flat, where she lived alone, without telling anyone? She was lucky Malfoy wasn't still on the wrong side. Or so he said. So far, Hermione had to admit she believed him. The fact that she was still alive also stood as a testament to that.

The rest of their conversation at the Hog's Head hadn't consisted of much. Malfoy continued to refuse to tell Hermione where he'd been or what he'd been doing. They spoke briefly about the news in the wizarding world – Malfoy seemed behind in the times, and Hermione had to fill him in on the changes that had taken place over the past few years. Mostly, they sat in silence and drank. She supposed Malfoy had been right when he said it was better than drinking alone … but it wasn't _much _better.

"So where are you staying?" she had finally asked.

Malfoy shrugged, "Dunno. Getting a room at the Three Broomsticks tonight and then figuring it out tomorrow."

Hermione bit her lip. She'd been afraid that was what he might say. "Er…you probably won't have much luck at the Three Broomsticks. It's run by Dean Thomas now."

Malfoy looked at her. They both knew the truth – it would matter who ran it, all that mattered was the fact that it was someone who'd known Malfoy at Hogwarts and during the war. It would be a Gryffindor, of course. Dean wouldn't rent a room to him if he was cornered by ten blast-ended skrewts.

"Right," he grunted, "muggle hotel, then."

Hermione stared at him for a moment before she found herself saying, "You can stay at my place if you need to. Just for one night."

Malfoy looked as though she'd just offered to marry him. Shock was painted onto his face.

"You," he said, "Granger. You're offering me a place to stay?"

Hermione shrugged.

"Me, sleeping on the couch of a mudblood's flat –"

Hermione slapped him hard across the face. The firewhiskey had hindered her aim, but there was still a clear red mark on Malfoy's cheek.

"Don't you _ever_," she said through clenched teeth,"_ever_ use that word again."

She eyed him up and down, suddenly wondering what the hell she was doing talking to him in the first place. "Maybe you haven't changed at all," she remarked, more to herself than to him. Getting up and stumbling slightly, she headed for the door.

A bitter wind greeted her, and she stopped a few yards away to apparate home. A voice stopped her.

"Wait," called Malfoy, hurrying to where she stood and sliding on the snowy ground, "Wait, Granger. Don't leave yet."

Hermione stared at him in stony silence. She realized for the first time that he had no cloak.

"I'm … I'm sorry," he said, choking out the words, "I'm in no position to insult you."

"Damn right you're not," she replied.

His sighed, meeting her eyes. "I have nowhere to go."

Hermione could tell it was killing his pride to be at her mercy. Part of her enjoyed it. He deserved this. Deserved to be begging her for a place to stay. She looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of malicious intent.

All she saw was sadness. Sadness, and emptiness.

"Come on," she said finally. And, grabbing his arm, she apparated home.

That was how Draco Malfoy had ended up on her couch at 5am. Hermione shook her head. She must have gone mad. Absolutely mad. Clearly her compassionate side had taken over after so much firewhiskey.

There was nothing to be done about it, of course. She wasn't about to wake Malfoy up and tell him to get out before sunrise. It wasn't worth the trouble – and she really didn't want to lose anymore sleep. Taking a deep breath, she walked back into her room, shutting and locking the door behind her before sinking into her warm bed.

Maybe when she woke up again, Malfoy would already be gone.

**A/N: Hmm… risky move on Hermione's part, letting Draco stay with her. Something tells me he isn't going to be gone as quickly as she thinks. Then again, who knows?**

**Please review! **


	3. Feeling

**A/N: Chapter three, huzzah! **

**Disclaimer: Yup, you guessed it, I continue to not own Harry Potter**

Hermione awoke to the steady buzz of her alarm clock. Letting out a quiet groan, she rolled over and hit the snooze button. She was just drifting off again when the smell of something burning reached her nose.

"Shit," she muttered, rolling out of bed and grabbing her wand before running to the kitchen. Her first thought was that Malfoy really was still the evil bastard she'd known in school, and he was trying to burn down her flat. Her second thought, upon getting into the tiny kitchen, was that she couldn't believe her eyes.

Draco Malfoy danced around in front of her, hopping awkwardly from foot to foot as he juggled two very burned pieces of toast in his hands. He was swearing like a sailor, and hadn't noticed Hermione fly into the room, wand at the ready.

Hermione couldn't help it. She began to laugh.

"What –" she tried to get the words out through her laughter, "What the hell are you doing?"

Malfoy froze at the sound of her voice, dropping both pieces of toast onto the bar.

"Bloody hell, Granger," he said, "You should warn someone that you've got dangerous machines in this place! The whole kitchen's a walking death trap."

He paused for a moment, looking her up and down. For a moment Hermione couldn't figure out why, but she suddenly realized that she'd jumped out of bed in a hurry – so much of a hurry that she hadn't put on her pajama bottoms. Giving a small squeak as she took in the fact that she was standing in front of Draco Malfoy in nothing but a t shirt and underwear, she dove back into her room and put on proper pants. Reemerging, she found him leaning against the bar, a smirk on his face.

"You're looking … well," he said. Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed past him.

"_This_," she said, indicating the mysterious machine in which he'd burned the toast, "Is called a toaster. It is not a dangerous machine, I can assure you that children have no problem with it. But while we're on the subject," she turned and pointed, "That is a microwave. For heaven's sake don't try to _use _it, just know that if you had any idea about anything muggle-related, you would find it simple as well. I believe you're familiar with refrigerators," she nodded to the corner closest to her bedroom, "And I believe you also know what ovens are."

She looked at Malfoy, and he had adopted a haughty expression, "I'm fully aware of what everything is in this kitchen, Granger," he began. Hermione knew he was lying. "It's just … been awhile."

She snorted, "Yeah, right."

They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment.

"So," Malfoy said, suddenly adopting a business-like tone, "Since my breakfast didn't quite work out, I'll just be leaving."

"Oh."

"You didn't expect me to … stay … did you?"

Hermione looked at the man in front of her, wearing his wrinkled clothes from the night before. Malfoy had asked the question in such a way that half implied he was insulted at the prospect of staying, yet half implied that he had hoped to do just that.

"Of course not," she said quickly, "I just assumed you would want some breakfast."

"No, I'm fine, thank you," he replied stiffly, "Thanks for everything."

Malfoy stuck out his hand, and Hermione shook it quickly. There was something so odd about the moment – her old enemy standing in her kitchen, thanking her for her hospitality. She wondered why, somewhere inside of her, a small voice told her to invite him to stay another night. She quieted the voice in an instant. This was Malfoy, after all. The only reason she even tolerated him in her flat for one night was because …

_Because you were lonely. _The voice in her head spoke up again.

_No, _Hermione reasoned with it, _It was because he had nowhere to go, and I wanted to be kind._

_But why?_

_Because he needed a friend, despite his past._

_Or because something about him made you curious …_

Hermione shook herself mentally, turning her attention back to the man in front of her.

"So," she began, "um, where do you plan to go?"

Malfoy shrugged, "I don't know. I've still got some money in Gringotts. I thought I'd go and collect that, maybe look about for a job."

Hermione nodded. It was hardly a plan – and considering that he'd disappeared for three years, she found herself wondering precisely what sort of job he would be qualified to have – but she decided not to ask. She'd run into Draco Malfoy by chance, she'd given him a bit of help, and now he was going on his way.

"Well," she said, walking with him to the door, "Best of luck."

"Thanks, Granger. I never thought I would say this, but – I'm glad I ran into you."

Hermione nodded, "I'm happy to help."

He was about to walk out the door when she stopped him, putting a hand on his arm. He turned to look at her, and for some reason the gesture felt more intimate than it had at the bar the night before. Hermione quickly withdrew her hand, chiding herself for noticing the feel of his muscle beneath his shirt.

"Yes?" he looked at her expectantly.

"What you said last night …" Hermione took a deep breath and looked him square in the eyes. Last night she thought that perhaps she'd imagined it, but the look was still there – desperation, emptiness. It confirmed to her that she had to say what next came out of her mouth, "I know you hate yourself for what happened during the war, and for all the things you didn't and didn't do. But …" she took another breath and continued, "But everyone deserves a second chance. And I don't know where you've been or what you've been doing, but I can see it in your eyes that you just don't care anymore. And you should, Draco. You should care, because your life isn't over, and you can make up for the past. I know you hate the man you were, but the man you are now isn't him."

The use of his first name startled Draco, and he stared at her for a long moment. Hermione wondered if he was about to yell at her. She'd crossed some sort of line by saying those things. It was as though she cared. Actually cared about the disheveled, tragic man in front of her. And she supposed that on some level she did – Draco Malfoy may have been a despicable boy, but he was a human being, and one who had no one in the world. He'd changed somehow. She could feel it. And no one who was trying to change should be entirely alone in the world.

"I don't want your pity," he said quietly, "I don't need it."

"It's not pity," Hermione said firmly.

She didn't know what the hell to call it, and she didn't think she wanted to know. But it wasn't pity.

Draco gave her a hard look. "I believe you," he said finally. And as though that were some sort of farewell, he turned and apparated on the spot.

Hermione stood in her doorway for a moment, trying her best to understand what had just happened. A civil conversation with Draco was one thing, but what she'd just done … that was something one friend would say to another. And they were not friends.

_So then what are you? _Asked the little voice she'd been trying to quiet all morning.

"Nothing," she muttered under her breath, "Absolutely nothing."

Shaking her head at the fact that she was talking to herself, Hermione shut the door and began to get ready for work.

Draco made his way down Diagon Alley with purpose. He knew he looked like hell, and the only thing that kept him going was his refusal to meet the eyes of any passersby. He was certain that plenty of them would recognize him – he was hard to miss. Taking a deep breath and continuing toward Gringotts with purpose, Draco tried to make sense of what had just transpired between himself and Hermione Granger.

It was mere happenstance that they'd met last night at the Hog's Head. He didn't know why he'd said the things he had – about how he'd felt after the war ended, about being a coward … he was nauseated with himself for opening up in that way – and to _Granger_ of all people. The girl who's life he had tried to make a living hell in school. One of the pillars of the opposing army during the war. Hermione Granger.

And she had offered to help him. She had given him a place to stay, and she'd said those … things … to him, before he left.

Draco shivered against the winter air, making a note to buy a cloak the moment he retrieved his savings. He had no worldy possessions left, except for those sitting dark and dusty in Malfoy Manor – and he had vowed never to return to that house.

He found himself dwelling on Hermione's final words to him. That the man he was now wasn't the same man he'd been. _Man. _He laughed at the word. He'd been a mere boy. A scared, cowardly boy. Three years could make a world of difference, of that much he was certain. But coming back to London after all this time … he was beginning to wonder if it was a good idea. He had meant to put the past behind him, but it seemed impossible to escape. And here, where it had all happened, where people stared at him because they knew him as the boy who'd fought on Voldemort's side, where he knew his past could keep him out of wizarding society forever … here the three years he'd been away didn't seem to matter at all. He was still Draco Malfoy. He couldn't change that fact. He'd considered living a life in hiding, pretending to be someone else. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. It seemed almost too easy – like he was allowing himself to escape when he knew that what he really needed to do was live with himself. If you could call it living. He had never intended to make some sort of grand re-entrance into this world. He only wanted to live quietly. Normally. Until the day he died. Living had become daunting, but he forced himself to do it.

Suddenly, Draco felt like breaking down in the middle of the street. He hated his life. He hated being trapped in who he was, in what he had done. He hated that he couldn't feel anything anymore. He had lived his life numbly for the past three years, and he wondered if somehow he'd thought coming back to London would wake him up. But he was an empty shell. And shells couldn't feel anything.

He touched his arm where Hermione had placed her hand an hour ago. He'd thought he felt something then. He didn't know what, just … something. But he thought now that he must be crazy.

And yet part of him wanted it to happen again. Just to make sure.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one will follow Hermione a bit more closely (and I promise it will be coming soon)**

**As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. **


	4. On each other's minds

**A/N: Back and (hopefully) better than ever! My chapters have been rather short up until now, so I made sure this one was a little longer! **

**Disclaimer: Sigh. Still no HP ownership. **

Hermione was late to work. Those few moments she'd spent talking to Draco had put her just enough behind schedule that by the time she apparated to St. Mungo's, the healers were already getting their assignments for the day.

Healer training had been two years of intensive classes that Hermione had flown through with impressive test scores and a natural aptitude. There had been some doubt when she entered the program due to the fact that she'd never actually graduated from Hogwarts – something that had been overlooked in light of her service to the wizarding world. She'd been more than proud to prove wrong the healers who thought she would be unable to complete her studies.

Those two years had been the best of her life – she and Ron were together and happy, she was excelling academically, and she, Ron, Harry and Ginny had been inseperable. Hermione couldn't help but feel a sad sense of nostalgia when she thought of what a different a few months could make. She's been six months into her year of apprentice healing when things had ended with Ron. For a few weeks it had taken a toll on her professionally. Healer Absalom, her assigned mentor, had finally called her into his office one day and told her that if she didn't get herself together she would be forced to defer from the program –and apprentice healers who deferred were almost never picked up again by St. Mungo's. Hermione knew she didn't want to end up in a small village hospital somewhere, so she took Absalom's advice and collected herself. There were still plenty of nights spent crying herself to sleep, but she learned to put up a barrier between her personal and professional life. At the hospital, there was a job to do. And she was going to do it right.

That determination had led to a position as healer in the Dark Magic division. Hermione was the youngest healer to be appointed to that division in a decade, and she certainly felt the pressure. She'd only been working there for a few short weeks, but already she understood how the stress and severity of the cases that came into corridor 19 could be too much for new healers to handle. But she wasn't just any new healer. She was Hermione Granger, and her name carried something with it in the wizarding world – a fact that she both loved and hated.

"Healer Granger," she heard the voice of her colleague, Elijah Bates, from behind her.

"Tsk tsk," he said, "a bit tardy today aren't we?"

His eyes sparkled, and Hermione knew he was just giving her a hard time. She was about to explain what had actually happened when she stopped short. It didn't seem like her place to tell anyone that Draco had returned to London.

"Late night at the Hog's Head," she said casually. That part, at least was true.

"Well, it's cost you," Elijah replied, studying the chart in front of them, "You're in charge of section C today."

Hermione groaned. Section C of corridor 19 was reserved for victims of only the mildest dark magic. She knew it was a little twisted to want to be in the middle of the gruesomely injured and dying, but the more intense sections kept her on her toes. They kept her mind occupied. Mostly, she knew, they kept her from thinking about Ron.

"Tough luck, Granger," Elijah remarked. He gave her a wink and headed toward his section.

Hermione watched after him with interest. More than once she'd gotten the feeling that Elijah was interested in her. He was a few years older and very handsome, so she supposed that she should jump at the chance. But something always held her back. She didn't love Ron anymore, of that much she was certain. She simply missed …. Them. The two of them, together, and how happy they'd been. If he came crawling back to her now, she wouldn't take him. He was a different man. But that didn't make the thought of him sting any less.

Refocusing her mind, she strode with purpose toward section C. There was work to be done, and she needed to focus on the day ahead.

And yet, for some reason, she found herself wondering what Draco Malfoy was doing at that moment …

Draco stared at the slightly decrepit building in front of him, wondering whether or not the "Flat for rent" sign in the front window was actually recent. More to the point, he wondered if he would find the space inside to actually be liveable.

After gathering his savings from Gringotts, the first thing he'd done was go to Madame Malkin's for a new cloak. He would need acceptable clothing as well, but for now his next main concern was finding a place to live. Draco realized that he was being rather idiotic in his approach of simply wandering around looking for "for rent" signs, but his decision to return to London had been rather sudden, and he hadn't had the time to properly look around.

That was how he ended up in front of an old, dusty-looking building that stood just where Diagon Alley met Knockturn Alley. He figured it was his best bet, considering that plenty of nicer establishments would turn him away simply based on his name.

Taking a deep breath, Draco walked inside.

The lobby of the place was small and dark, with moth-eaten victorian furniture. There was a middle-aged witch nodding off behind the front desk, and Draco awkwardly tapped a small silver bell to wake her up.

"Huh? Whos'sat?" she asked, sitting up straighter in her chair.

"Er, hello," Draco began, "I came in to enquire about the sign in the window. Do you still have a flat for rent here?"

The woman eyed him up for a moment, running a hand through her frizz grayingy hair, "You a trouble maker?"

"No."

She looked at him more closely, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"I can't say," Draco replied with a shrug. Come down to it, he would own up to who he was. But if she couldn't place him, all the better.

"Yeah," she said finally, "Yeah, I 'ave a flat for rent. You can come have a look if you like."

Draco nodded.

The woman got up, and he followed her as she wound her way up a rickety staircase. The wallpaper on the walls was peeling and the carpet was worn, but overall Draco thought the place was inhabitable – or at least, the hallway was.

"This is it," she said, stopping in front of an unassuming wooden door and fishing a key out of her pocket.

The door creaked open, and the pair walked inside. Draco looked around the room hesitantly.

There was a decently large window to his left that looked out over the back of the alley, and an old woodstove sat in the corner to his right. Overall, he supposed it looked inhabitable.

"This here is the main room," the woman said, ushering him along, "Then you've got your bedroom and washroom through that door on your right. That's the kitchen straight ahead there –" she nodded toward a sink, counter, and a few cabinets, " – and that's 'bout it. You interested?"

"Is it cheap?" Draco asked.

"Cheap enough," she replied.

"I'll take it."

He followed the woman back downstairs – she finally introduced herself as Mrs. Barret – and handed over his first month's rent in exchange for an old brass key that read "1C" on it. Satisfied, he put the key in his pocket and headed out the door to find some cheap furniture to put in his cheap apartment. Somehow, having a place to live – to call his own, had given him a renewed sense of hope. It might not be much, but he hadn't had a real home in …. Well, he didn't feel as though he'd ever had a real home.

Unannounced, a thought popped into his mind. _You should invite Hermione over for dinner. _

Draco stopped on the street. Why would he think a thing like that? Sure he should probably do something to thank her for letting him stay at her flat, but he'd been thinking something along the lines of a thank you note. This was Granger, after all. Inviting her to dinner would imply that he wanted to spend time with her. Talk to her.

_You enjoyed talking to her at the Hog's Head, didn't you?_

I was drunk.

_Not that drunk._

It was nothing. It'll be forgotten by tomorrow.

_I bet you won't forget how she looked in nothing but her underwear and a t shirt by tomorrow …_

Draco let out an annoyed groan. That much, he knew, was true. The sight of her slim body wearing next to nothing…

He balled his hands into fists an forced the image out of his mind. It had clearly been too long since he'd ben with a woman if he was starting to think about Granger this way. He could admit that she was pretty. Short hair was becoming on her, and she seemed to have filled out since 17 – but that was all. He was just a man noticing that a girl he used to know had grown into a not so terrible looking woman.

Shaking thoughts of Hermione Granger firmly out of his mind, Draco made his way to a consignment shop on the unfashionable end of Diagon Alley. He was certain they would have furniture that would meet his needs. He made a mental list in his head as he walked. Couch. End table. Kitchen table. Chairs. Bed. Dresser. He could carry it all home in a moderately-sized bag if he performed the shrinking charm well enough.

Eventually, Draco mused, he would get some artwork. Just a picture or two – nothing terribly fancy, but something to give the place a bit of class. He'd spent the past three years living in squalor, and as musty as his new home might be, he wanted it to look fairly presentably by the time he was done with it. He wanted a sanctuary, really. A place to exist in peace.

He needed a job, too. But unfortunately he had a hunch that finding a place to work would be a hell of a lot harder than finding a place to live.

Hermione scrubbed off her face in the ladies room and performed a sanitation charm. One of the many downsides of dealing with section C was the amount of puss involved in many low-level dark spells. She shuddered at the memory of the boils she'd just popped on a teenager who'd gotten into a rougher than average scrap with his friend. The idea that kids could throw around dark magic around so casually frustrated her to no end. They would certainly be punished, but personally she felt the best punishment would be to leave the boils on his face.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she bumped straight into Elijah.

"Well hello," he said, "I would apologize for running into you, but I was actually hoping I might."

"I…" Hermione stuttered awkwardly, "I mean, were you? Why's that?"

"A group of us are having drinks at the Leaky Cauldron after we get off our shifts tonight – care to join us?"

Hermione paused for a moment. Was Elijah actually asking her out?

_Don't be silly, _she told herself, _he's just asking you to have drinks with some friends. _

But still, with all the looks he gave her, and the jokes, and the flirting … she wondered if it wasn't something of a date.

"Um..Hermione?" Elijah looked at her expectantly. She'd never noticed how lovely his green eyes were. A pair of gray eyes suddenly flashed in her mind, but the image was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Yeah," she said, "Yeah, that sounds great. Are you all off at eight?"

"Yup," Elijah's healer alert charm buzzed in his pocket.

"I've gotta go," he said, "But I'll see you at the Cauldron!"

"See you!" Hermione called as he jogged down the corridor.

It seemed as though 8 o'clock would never roll around, but when it finally did Hermione felt exhausted. Still, she'd promised to meet Elijah, and she honestly felt a little excited about it. Aside from a few failed blind dates orchestrated by a well-meaning Ginny, her love life had been non-existent since she broke up with Ron. The possibility of something with a man she found genuinely interesting and attractive put her in a very good mood.

Once again, that stubborn pair of gray eyes came to mind. Hermione shook them out of her head. She knew who they belonged to, and she had no business thinking about him. Draco Malfoy had passed briefly through her life for less than 24 hours – there was no reason to still be thinking about him. Or the fact that he looked good with a bit of five o'clock shadow, or the way his muscle felt when she'd grabbed his arm.

"Oh stop it, Hermione," she muttered to herself. She was being ridiculous. And this was clearly a sign that she needed to get back into the dating world.

Apparating home quickly, Hermione put on a touch of makeup and changed into jeans and a black top. She had never been particularly fussy about clothes, but she liked to look nice – especially tonight. Satisfied with her appearance, she apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

She spotted Elijah quickly, sitting in a booth with three other healers she recognized as being a few years older than her. One of them – Elise – she knew fairly well, and she was somewhat comforted to see a friendly face.

"Hermione!" Elijah called upon seeing her, "Over here!"

He patted the space next to him, and Hermione slid into the booth. She greeted everyone in turn, and introducing herself to Abigail and Darius, the two healers she'd never officially met. Ordering herself a drink, Hermione slid into easy conversation with the group. It was going to be a good night.

Draco Malfoy walked through the back door of the Leaky Cauldron with relief. He'd purchased his furniture and arranged his apartment, but found that he didn't want to be there alone. Not tonight. He felt the strange urge to be around people, and before he knew it his feet were carrying him to the Cauldron.

It wasn't that he specifically wanted company – he just wanted to be somewhere loud and noisy. The past three years had been so quiet that he often longed for crowds of people. It was also easier to disappear in a crowd. To be anonymous. Draco had come to appreciate that.

Sitting himself down at the bar, Draco ordered a Bulgarian blaster and scanned the low-lit, crowded room. He knew that some people had recognized him, he could tell by the way their gaze lingered. But no one said a word. He had expected as much. Reactions to his return would probably range from someone not giving a damn to someone who was willing to curse him out on the street. While he hoped the former would occur most often, he was prepared for the latter.

It was then that his eyes fell on Hermione Granger. He could tell he wasn't the only man at the bar who'd noticed her. She was sitting with a group of four others talking animatedly, her silver earrings flashing in the light.

_She's beautiful. _

The thought formed in Draco's mind before he could stop it. What the hell was he thinking?

It was true, though. If he hadn't been convinced of it himself, the other men staring at her would have convinced him plenty. She stood out from the other girls there with her short hair and casual demeanor. She didn't look as though she was trying too hard. Draco admired that, even as he hated himself for noticing it.

She seemed to be particularly close with the man she sat next to – a tall man with dark hair who had casually thrown his arm over her shoulder. It was then that Draco felt something he hadn't expected.

Jealousy.

Taking another long drink, Draco tried to shake off the feeling. If he ignored it, it would go away. And it would surely go away.

Because jealousy would mean that for some reason, on some level, he wanted Hermione Granger.

And that was something he would not let himself consider.

**A/N: Hm, so Draco has had a little encounter with the green eyed monster. I wonder if he'll do anything about it…**

**Reviews make my day!**


	5. At the Leaky Cauldron

**A/N: Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has reviewed and added this story to their favorites/alerts! It makes me as happy as a hippogriff with a freshly caught ferret.**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own. Meh.**

Hermione was having a good time. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually flirted with anyone, but she absolutely knew she was flirting with Elijah – and he was flirting back. When he casually put his arm around her she couldn't help but smile. Admittedly, the gesture didn't make her heart flutter, but she didn't really think it was possible for that to happen anymore anyway. It had happened on some level with Ron, but …

Hermione mentally shook herself. Now was not the time to start thinking about Ron Weasley. Turning her attention to the conversation at hand with renewed vigor, she jumped into the friendly debate between the healers about who was the toughest mentor at St. Mungo's.

...-...-...-

Draco continued to watch Hermione as the evening wore on. He was ashamed of himself for doing it, but he found that it was difficult to look away from her for any extended period of time. He did his best to focus on the Daily Prophet he'd picked up on his way to the Leaky Cauldron, but found himself only able to read half an article before his eyes travelled over to the corner where she sat. Pondering the meaning of his fascination with Granger, he concluded that it was probably to do with the fact that she was the first real person he made contact with when he returned to the wizarding world. She had also somehow been able to overlook the sins of his past and offer him kindness and … well, something like friendship.

_Pathetic, Malfoy, _he told himself firmly, _you don't fall for a woman just because she is nice to you._

Immediately he checked his thoughts. No. He wasn't "falling" for anyone. Particularly not Granger. It wasn't as though his feelings about her blood came into the equation – he'd long ago shed the prejudiced ideas drilled into him by his parents. It was simply that he wouldn't allow himself romantic involvement. He wasn't worth it. He knew that if he wanted to, he could find some witch out there who would think he was a hero for his actions during the war. He knew that certain underground groups had attempted to contact him during his three years away, urging him to stand up and fight again for purity among the wizarding race. But he didn't want that. It made him sick to know that some witches and wizards worshipped him for the actions of which he was now so ashamed.

Draco slammed back the rest of his drink, suddenly feeling anger course through his veins. It was a familiar feeling, one that was brought on whenever he thought too much about what he'd done in the past. He ordered another Bulgarian blaster and downed it in one gulp before deciding that if he stayed at the Leaky Cauldron, he was likely to draw attention to himself by picking up his bar stool and throwing it against the wall. He needed to let off some steam.

Throwing down money for his drinks, Draco walked quickly out the back door of the bar. He stopped at the brick wall that led to Diagon Alley. Rather than tap the necessary bricks to gain entrance, he slammed his fist into the wall. It hurt like hell, but he was glad of it.

He heard a small gasp, and turned around with a start to see Hermione Granger staring at him, her eyes wide.

...-...-...-

Hermione had noticed Draco Malfoy after her first half hour at the Leaky Cauldron. He was sitting at the bar with a copy of the Daily Prophet, succeeding in looking more or less inconspicuous. The truth of the matter was that she wouldn't even have seen him if Darius, one of the healers at her booth, hadn't pointed him out.

"Oy," he said, nodding his head in Draco's direction, "Am I mad, or is that Draco Malfoy?"

Everyone else at the table turned to look.

"You know, I think it is," Elijah replied, "Holy hell, never thought he'd have the nerve to show up around here again."

Hermione shrugged, "He got acquitted of any crimes, didn't he? I suppose he has the right to do as he pleases."

Everyone at the booth stared at her in silence.

"Wow Hermione, I'd think you of all people wouldn't want to see him around here again."

She shrugged, "He was nothing but a scared kid during that war."

Her response was met with silence. Elijah nervously scratched the back of his dark auburn head.

"Anyway," she continued, "Let's not waste time gossiping about him. What were you saying about that botched potion during training, Abby?"

The conversation continued on, but Hermione found herself keeping one eye on Draco. There was no denying it – he was handsome. He'd been almost pretty as a boy, but his age and years away had left him with a harder appearance. She wondered why she was noticing at all, and told herself it was a simple observation. It might be a lie, but she pushed the thought from her mind.

He glanced up, and she turned away quickly, wondering if he'd noticed her looking. Had he even noticed her in the bar? After another twenty minutes, she saw him down his second drink and walk quickly out of the bar. She decided, for some reason, to follow him.

"I'll be right back," she said to Elijah, "I think I just saw an old friend of mine, I want to say hello."

"Don't be gone too long," Elijah replied, and she slid out from under his arm.

It was cold outside, and snowing as Hermione stepped out of the door. She barely had a moment to notice the temperature when Draco slammed his fist into the brick wall in front of him. Hermione let out a small gasp, and he turned around.

"What on earth are you doing?"

He glanced down at his bleeding knuckles, then back at her, "Punching a wall," he said simply.

"And why exactly are you doing that?"

He shrugged, "Better than punching a person."

Hermione advanced toward him, her healer instincts kicking in as she took his hand in hers and held it up to examine it. He pulled it away quickly.

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?"

She rolled her eyes. Did he have to make this difficult?

"Trying to help you," she replied, "Your knuckles look bad, and I wouldn't be surprised if you've fractured a bone or two."

"Not much of your business, is it?"

Hermione wondered why he was suddenly treating her as though they were in school again.

"Look, I was just trying to help."

She turned on her heel and was about to walk back inside when his voice stopped her.

"Wait," he said, sounding tired, "I'm sorry."

She turned back around.

"I just …" he sighed, looking as though he was trying to find the right words, "I just get so angry at myself sometimes. And I …." He gave a slight laugh, "I take it out on walls, I guess."

Hermione walked closer to him and took his hand in hers again, "More like you take it out on your body," she replied.

It was just a matter of taking out her wand and muttering a few complicated healing curses, but soon enough Draco's fist looked as though it had never met the wall.

"Thanks," he said when she had finished.

"No problem," Hermione replied, "We need to stop meeting like this."

Draco gave her a questioning look.

"At bars," she added.

"Oh," he said, "Yeah. Sorry about that. I saw you were with some people, you should probably be getting back."

"Probably," she replied, "I told them I saw an old friend I needed to catch up with."

Draco smiled, "Wouldn't want them to know you were going to talk to me, after all."

His voice suggested he was joking, but Hermione could sense the bitterness behind the words. He knew that almost no self-respecting wizard would want to be seen in his company. It was sad, but it was the truth.

Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Well," she said, "how did things go today?"

"Good," Draco replied, remembering briefly mentioning his plans to her that morning,"I, um, I got myself a flat."

"Did you?" she asked, "That's great."

"Yeah," he said. A silence lapsed between them.

"Well," Hermione said finally, "I guess I'll be getting back. Take care of yourself, Draco."

"You too," he replied.

...-...-...

Draco was surprised at just how much he didn't want Hermione to turn around and walk back inside. The few moments they had together, and the way her small, warm hand had held his while she healed him … he hated to admit how much he had enjoyed it.

He was being crazy, and he knew it. But suddenly he felt an urge for human contact. Real, honest contact. And he wanted it with Hermione Granger.

She had one hand on the door when he stopped her.

"Wait," he said.

She turned to face him, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes?"

He looked at her, snowflakes caught on her dark lashes, her brown eyes looking up at him expectantly. Waiting for him to say something.

Draco knew he would regret what he was about to do. But he found that he didn't care. It could be the Bulgarian blaster pulsing through him – he wanted to believe that's what made him do it. That, and the simple fact that Hermione Granger looked at him without an ounce of hatred when she had every right to hex him into oblivion. She looked at him without judgment. He felt somehow as though she could see him. The man he was, not the boy he'd been.

"I'm sorry," he said simply. He didn't know what he was apologizing for, he only knew that he wanted this moment. Sliding an arm around her waist, he pulled her close and crashed his lips into hers.

...-...-...

Every muscle in Hermione's body tensed when she felt Draco's arm encircle her waist. Before she had time to react, his lips were on hers. For a moment she fought him, listening to every part of her brain screaming that this wasn't right. Draco Malfoy had been the enemy. They'd spent almost a decade hating each other. He'd called her a mudblood, he'd done terrible things ...

And yet, he was a different man now. And he was kissing her. Hermione hadn't been kissed – really and properly kissed – since she and Ron had ended. She wondered if that was why she surrendered to it. Simply because it had been so long. She wanted to believe that that was the reason. That it had nothing to do with who was kissing her, only to do with the fact that she was being kissed.

She stopped fighting, putting her arms around his neck. He pulled her deeper into the kiss, securing his other arm around her waist and pressing their bodies against each other. Hermione opened her mouth and he slid his tongue inside. She tangled her hands in his hair and let out a soft moan.

He moved his mouth to her neck, and suddenly Hermione's brain snapped to attention.

What the hell was she doing.

"Draco," she said, finding her voice, "Draco … stop."

He stopped almost instantly and they pulled away from each other, both breathing hard. Hermione wondered if she looked as he did – cheeks flushed, lips bruised.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked finally.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I lost control of myself. Not that you seemed to mind…" A slight smirk came to his face, and for a moment Hermione could see the cocky boy she'd known in school.

"You can't just … I mean you shouldn't … you just…" Hermione was ashamed that she couldn't find the words she was searching for. She knew she should tell him off for doing that. For just grabbing her and kissing her. She should be absolutely livid.

"I think what you're trying to say is that I shouldn't just go around kissing people like that… You're probably right." He gave her a look that Hermione couldn't quite read before saying, "It won't happen again."

"Well…." She said, clearing her throat, "Good. I, um, I'm going to go back inside. My friends will be wondering where I am."

"Right," Draco replied, "Well, I'll see you later. Thanks again for fixing my hand."

He turned and tapped the bricks that would let him into Diagon Alley, and Hermione walked quickly back inside. She resisted the urge to turn around and watch him go.

"Hermione, there you are!" Elijah smiled widely as Hermione walked back over to the booth, "We thought you'd ditched us."

Hermione let out a nervous laugh and sat back down, "Sorry about that – my friend was a bit long winded."

She settled back into the conversation at the table, wondering if her smile appeared as ridiculously fake to everyone else as it felt to her. She couldn't stop thinking about Draco's kiss. What the hell had he been thinking? They'd had a handful of conversations since he'd been back and suddenly he kissed her?

Hermione touched her lips absent-mindedly.

She was suddenly very aware of the fact that she wanted him to kiss her again.

**A/N: What in the world will Hermione do now? And what about Draco – is he regretting his rash actions? So many questions …. I'll update again soon! Reviews are wonderful. **


	6. Kiss me again

**A/N: Another GIGANTIC thank you to everyone who has reviewed or added this story to their favorites/alerts. You all are wonderful.**

**As always, please review if you have a moment! It absolutely makes my day. **

**Disclaimer: … not mine. **

Hermione rummaged nervously through her closet, trying to find something to wear. Elijah had asked her out on a date – a proper date – and she was practically beside herself.

It was a rare thing that her two days off per week actually fell on the weekend, but once every two months or so she got lucky. It just so happened that Elijah also had Saturday off.

He'd caught up with her after their night out at the Leaky Cauldron, just as she was getting ready to head home.

"Hermione!"

She turned around.

"Hey," he said, jogging up to her, "I was afraid you'd already left."

She shook her head, "I was dealing with a particularly nasty hex."

Elijah nodded in understanding. "So … did you have fun last night?"

"Oh absolutely, it was a blast."

_And then there was that part when Draco Malfoy kissed you …_

Hermione mentally kicked herself for even thinking about it.

"I'm glad. We need all the fun we can get outside of this place." He suddenly sounded nervous as he continued, "I had a lot of fun too. And I was actually wondering … would you like to have dinner with me Saturday night? If you're off, that is."

Hermione gave him a sly smile, "Elijah, you know perfectly well that I'm off. I saw you checking the duty chart this morning."

He gave her a sheepish grin, "Is that a yes?"

For a second, Hermione hesitated, remembering the feel of Draco's lips on hers.

"Sure," she said, once again forcing her mind away from what had happened in the alley, "sounds great. Did you have a place in mind?"

Elijah looked at her thoughtfully, "It's a surprise," he said finally, "I'll pick you up at 7."

Hermione laughed, "Okay, surprise it is. Can you tell me what I should wear?"

"Something a bit fancy," he replied, "But you know … you make even scrubs look good."

He eyed her in a way that made Hermione blush.

She wrote down her address for him on a scrap of paper, and told him she was looking forward to it before apparating home.

Saturday had come along much faster than Hermione had anticipated. It was two hours before her date with Elijah and she was trying desperately to find something proper to wear. In all honesty, she felt a bit ridiculous. Hermione Granger was not the sort of girl who fussed, especially when it came to men. Then again, she also wasn't the sort of girl to go on a date with one man when she couldn't get another off her mind.

"Oh stop it, Hermione," she muttered to herself for had to have been the hundredth time in the past few days. She was thinking of Draco Malfoy again.

She hadn't seen him or heard from him since he'd kissed her behind the Leaky Cauldron. She didn't precisely know what she had expected, but for some reason it felt strange that they hadn't spoken since then. Hermione had herself partially convinced that it was all just some crazy dream – Draco waltzed back into her life for two days, turned everything upside down, and then disappeared again. Surely he hadn't really slept on her couch. Surely he hadn't really kissed her.

Her vivid memory told her otherwise.

It was pointless to think about him, she knew. He had kissed her because he wanted to kiss a woman – that was all there was to it. Because he'd been lonely and she had been kind to him. That was what she kept telling herself. It had nothing to do with whether or not he was really attracted to her. And it was for that very reason that she needed to forget all about it and concentrate on a man who clearly was attracted to her.

lllllllllllllllllllllll

Sitting on the sofa in his new apartment, Draco Malfoy was trying to convince himself of the exact same thing. He still couldn't believe he'd kissed Hermione Granger. He had to be out of his mind. Driven mad by the loneliness he'd experienced in the past three years. Yes, that had to be it.

But then why had he been jealous when he saw her cozied up with that handsome wizard? Laughing at the things that he said, letting him put his arm around her … it had taken every ounce of Draco's self-control not to punch the man in the face.

He would have had no grounds to do so. He wasn't with Hermione – hell, he'd seen her for a grand total of two days in the past three years. They were hardly even acquaintances, much less friends. He had no right to feel the way he did. And yet he couldn't help it.

Taking a deep breath, Draco stood up from the sofa. He needed to go out. He needed to meet a pretty witch and take her home. That would solve the entire issue of Hermione. That would prove that he only wanted a woman's company – it didn't matter who the woman was.

He went into the bathroom with the idea of shaving, but, after eying his reflection carefully in the mirror, he decided against it. As it happened, he liked the five o'clock shadow on his face. It hid the fact that he had been so pretty as a boy. Going into the bedroom, he changed into something presentable and headed out the door.

Tonight, he was going to have fun.

Elijah arrived at 7 on the dot. Hermione, having called Ginny over to help her in a fit of panic, was ready just as the doorbell rang.

"You look marvelous," Ginny said, eying her friend, "Good luck!"

With a wink, she apparated home.

Hermione didn't know what she would have done without Ginny, who was more than happy to help her friend prepare for her first proper date in months. Admittedly there had been a few ill-fated attempts by both Harry and Ginny to set her up with wizards they knew, but all had failed on such a massive scale that eventually the couple agreed to butt out and let Hermione do things her way.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione gave herself one last look in the mirror that hung on her door. She smoothed the fabric of the strapless, full-skirted burgundy dress she wore and slid on her heels before answering the door.

"Hi," she said, a smile spreading across her face when she saw that Elijah had arrived with flowers in hand, "Come in."

He crossed the threshold and presented her with the flowers. Hermione commented on them and filled a vase with water.

"Muggle appliances?" Elijah asked, indicated her microwave and toaster.

Hermione nodded, "I grew up with them."

"Right, of course."

It was well-known that Hermione was muggle-born. After all, that had been the entire crux of Voldemort's war.

It had taken a long time, but after performing a complicated restorative spell, her parents began to remember her again. It was incredibly difficult, but she dealt with it has best she could and visited them often.

"Well," Hermione said, "Are you going to tell me where we're going now?"

Elijah shook his head. "Nope," he replied, "Just take hold of my arm and we'll be off."

She stepped over to him and wrapper her arm in his.

"By the way," Elijah said, his breath tickling her ear, "You look absolutely stunning."

With a pop, they were gone.

lllllllllllllllll

Draco appeared in front of a bar called Elixir just after 9. He'd never been there himself, but he'd heard about the place and knew it was exactly the sort of bar he was looking for. It was a place for casual drinks early in the evening, but later on apparently it turned into an excellent dance club.

It was located on a fashionable end of Diagon Alley, and Draco could have easily walked there were it not for the chilly weather.

Rolling up his shirtsleeves, he walked inside and sat himself down at the bar. The place was already starting to get crowded, and immediately he spotted a few groups of attractive witches sitting together at the booths near the dance floor. He wondered what the odds were that they either wouldn't recognize him or wouldn't care who he was. It was definitely worth taking his chances, he decided.

Ordering a glass of firewhiskey from the bartender, Draco sipped it while patiently choosing the woman he wanted. He hadn't done anything like this in years – not since he first disappeared from England. There had been a period of a few months when all he did was drink and sleep with whoever he could find. It numbed him from the pain of everything else. But eventually it got sloppy, and he felt guilty for trying to forget the things he should hate himself for doing. The people who'd lost loved ones in the war didn't get to forget. Neither should he. After that he isolated himself from the world.

After half an hour, Draco had decided one someone. Well, actually he'd decided on two someones, in case the first one didn't work out. One was a tall girl with long blonde hair and a body Draco definitely wouldn't mind seeing without clothes. The other was more petite, with darker hair and blue eyes. Draco decided to try for the blonde first.

Finishing the last of his firewhiskey, he got up and sauntered toward her table. Nodding politely at the women she was sitting with, he turned his attention to her.

"Hi," he said, "Would you like to dance?"

There was a band playing that sounded something like the Weird Sisters, and the strong beat was perfect for dancing. The blonde woman eyed him for a moment, as if trying to recall if he looked familiar. Then a smile spread across her face.

"I'd love to," she replied, taking the hand he offered. "I'm Annika. What's your name?"

"Dorian," Draco lied. If she didn't recognize him, why risk it?

"Nice to meet you," Annika said.

"You too."

He led her onto the dance floor and they started to move together. Draco smiled to himself. This was exactly what he needed to forget about Hermione.

Not that he should even be thinking about her.

lllllllllllllllllll

Hermione couldn't believe the dinner she'd just had with Elijah. He had taken her to Paris to eat at a little bistro in the wizarding section of the city called Fleur, which couldn't help but remind Hermione of Bill's wife. It was absolutely beautiful, with a view of the city Hermione could scarcely believe was real.

Then again, she was still trying to get past the fact that Elijah had taken her to Paris for dinner.

They'd had a wonderful evening together, and Hermione found that Elijah was easy to talk to one on one. He asked her plenty of questions about herself, and Hermione returned the favor. She discovered the Elijah was about four years older than her, which explained why she'd never really noticed him at Hogwarts. He'd been a Ravenclaw, which wasn't surprising, and he was one of the brightest young healers at St. Mungo's. Hermione couldn't help but wonder why exactly he was interested in her. Surely he could have any witch he set his sights on. But she shrugged off the feeling, reminding herself that she had a lot going for her. She wasn't the mousy little thing she'd been in school. She was a smart, talented, beautiful witch. She deserved a man like Elijah.

Uninvited, she suddenly remembered Draco again. Damn him. She didn't understand why she couldn't just accept what had happened between them and forget about it.

Shaking her head, Hermione refocused on Elijah's story about his trip to Bulgaria and decided that perhaps it would just take a little more time than she'd thought to forget about Draco.

But Elijah would certainly help.

"Would you like to grab a nightcap back in Diagon Alley?" Elijah asked after they had finished their meals.

The truth was that Hermione would have happily stayed in Paris all night long. But she didn't mind taking Elijah at his suggestion. She hated to admit it, but she was starting to get a bit tired. One drink close to home and then crawling into her bed sounded like a very appealing idea.

"Sure," she replied, "Let's go."

Draco had made up his mind to take Annika home with him. She seemed more than willing, and she was gorgeous. They'd danced and drank together all evening, and while he didn't find her company particularly exciting, he didn't find it annoying either. She was no Hermione, but –

He almost had to laugh at himself. Still thinking about Granger? Pathetic.

They left Elixir a little bit before midnight, Annika giggling and holding onto Draco's arm. He had decided it would probably be best to walk to his flat – alcohol and apparating did not often mix well. They had just turned the corner when he heard two voices somewhere to his left.

"I thought we were going to a bar…?" said a woman's voice. Draco froze. He knew that voice.

"But it would be much cozier up in my flat, don't you think?" replied a man.

"I'd rather not, Elijah, this is only our first date."

"Come on, Hermione let's just go upstairs. Relax, have a drink. I had a great time with you tonight."

Draco turned around, leaving Annika standing in the snow while he searched out the voices.

"I had a great time too, so let's not ruin it…"

"Come on, Hermione, we'll go inside, it'll be fun."

He located the little alcove where Hermione stood with the same man he'd seen her with at the Leaky Cauldron. She was just turning to leave when he saw the man grab hold of her arm.

"I said no, Elijah, but thanks anyway."

She tried to step away again, but he had a firm hold on her arm and pulled her back.

"Let go of me," Hermione said in a low voice.

"Just come inside," Elijah repeated, "It'll be fun."

Draco could see him press himself up against Hermione, trapping her between him and the wall. She was fumbling for something – her wand, Draco guessed – but he knew she couldn't reach it.

"What the hell are you doing?" his voice was as cold as ice, and he saw the man step away from Hermione and turn to face him.

llllllllllllllllllll

Hermione thought she had to be going mad. She could swear that Draco Malfoy was standing in front of her, wand drawn, pointing it directly at Elijah.

She'd never been so happy to see him.

"I don't think it's any of your business, mate," Elijah replied warily, "Move along, will you?"

"No," Draco replied firmly, "I think Hermione wants to leave. And unless you want to be hexed into next week, I suggest you let her go."

Elijah face registered surprise at the fact that this man knew Hermione. He eyed up his adversary carefully, as though trying to decide if it was worth the fight. But he took a moment too long.

Hermione slid out from between him and the wall and hurried over to Draco.

"Fine," Elijah said to her, "I just wanted to have fun tonight, Hermione, I thought that's what you wanted too."

Hermione turned to face him, "I think I made it clear that what you were doing is not my idea of fun," she replied steadily. And without another word, she whipped out her wand.

"Petrificus Totalus," she yelled. Elijah dropped like a rock into the snow.

"Come on," she said to Draco, "Let's go."

They got back to the main street, and Hermione saw a beautiful blonde girl standing alone, looking very pissed off.

"What the hell?" She asked, as soon as Draco came into sight, "You just left me here! And now you're back with another woman?"

She eyed Hermione suspiciously before turning her attention back to Draco.

"I don't know what kind of games you like to play," she said, "But I am not interested."

Before Draco could utter a word of explanation, she apparated.

"Friend of yours?" Hermione asked.

Draco gave a small smile, "Well, I was hoping she would be …"

Hermione sighed, "Look, I'm sorry you got a bit mixed up in that. I'm sure I could have handled it, but …" she turned to face him, "I'm really glad you were there."

Draco nodded, "We do have a habit of running into each other don't we?"

"It seems we do."

He looked at her, and Hermione could swear she saw something caring in his eyes. He reached out and adjusted her wrap, which had fallen from her shoulder. She shivered lightly at his touch. It was from the cold, of course. Nothing else.

"You'd probably like to get home, wouldn't you?" He asked, "It's freezing out here."

Hermione nodded.

"Well," he said, "Take care of yourself. I mean it – I don't want to run into you again in an alleyway with a man who doesn't understand the meaning of the word no."

Hermione shook her head with a rueful smile, "They always seem so nice at the beginning, don't they?" She looked up at Draco, "Then again, some of them don't. And they turn out to be something really special."

She took a step closer to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Thank you," she said quietly, "Really. Thank you."

lllllllllllllllllll

Hermione breath in his ear sent a shiver down Draco's spine. He looked at her face and couldn't believe that Elijah had had the nerve to try to force her to do anything. What kind of a man was he? Draco knew he was hardly one to pass judgment on the behavior of others, but what Elijah had tried to do disgusted him. If he weren't with Hermione right now, he would turn around, knock on Elijah's door and punch him in the face. He deserved it. But instead, Draco turned his attention back to the woman in front of him.

"You going to be all right?" He asked.

Hermione nodded, "I'll be fine."

Draco didn't know what he was thinking, but in the next moment he had his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to him. She responded, nestling into his chest, and he kissed her cropped hair.

"Hermione," he said after a moment.

She pulled back from him and he immediately wished she hadn't.

"Yes?"

"Look," Draco began. He didn't know what to say, but he had to say something. He didn't think he could ignore this anymore. "I … I don't know what's going on between us, if anything even is going on. But I …" he pushed a hand nervously through his hair, "I don't want you to leave tonight without knowing when I'll see you again. If I'll see you again."

Hermione looked at him long and hard, and for a moment he regretted his words. Why the hell would she be interested in him after all he'd done? Who was to say that she hadn't just let him kiss her that night out of pity? That she wasn't letting him hold her now simply because he was somebody, not because he was Draco Malfoy?

"I don't know what to say Draco."

"Look, I was out of line to say any of that. I'll just go, you don't have to – "

"Draco," Hermione cut it, "It's all right. You weren't out of line. I think I feel the same way you do. I just don't understand it …"

She took another step toward him and put her hands on his face, "I shouldn't want you after everything, Draco. After what you've done. But for some reason…" she shook her head slightly, "You've changed. And I want to know you, even if I shouldn't." She hesitated for a moment, "Kiss me again."

Draco didn't need to be told twice. Encircling her in his arms, he brought their lips together again. It was slow and sweet, so different from the first time. A single thought formed in his mind before he gave himself into feeling.

_I've fallen for her. _

**A/N: Please review!**


	7. Internal

**A/N: Gah! Two weeks since my last chapter – many apologies. Work seems to keep getting in the way. Without further ado…**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

Hermione was fairly certain she'd gone insane. She had begun her Saturday night on a date in Paris with Elijah, and ended it in Draco Malfoy's arms. What the bloody hell was wrong with her?

She knew that she was only arguing with herself based on principle – because based on principle, she shouldn't be feeling this way about Draco. At the very least she should feel indifference. At the most, hatred. And yet all she felt was curiosity, and a strange flutter in her stomach every time he came to mind. Her body ached at the mere memory of his kiss in Diagon Alley.

Yes, she was definitely going insane.

It had been a few days since Hermione had spoken to Draco. In fact, she hadn't been in touch with him since Saturday night. They had said their goodbyes, and she'd apparated home. There was a lot to think about. For starters, was she supposed to owl him now, or would he get in touch with her? When he said he wanted to see her again, did he mean he wanted to take her on a date, or that he just wanted her in his life? And then there was still the nagging question of where he'd been for the past three years. Hermione had never been one to pry, but if they were going to be involved then she wanted to know. She wanted him to trust her enough to tell her.

Hermione rolled her eyes at herself. As usual, she had jumped ten steps ahead. More importantly, she didn't have her mind on her work. Taking a deep breath and collecting her thoughts, she refocused on the Healer schedule in front of her, which she realized she had been staring at without reading for the past several minutes.

It appeared that she would be spending yet another day in section C, dealing with mild hexes and spells. Hermione groaned. Was it too much to ask for a little bit of excitement?

Not five minutes later, she wished she had never had that thought.

lllllllll

Draco paced around his flat restlessly. He felt the need to go out and do something, but didn't know what. He couldn't get Hermione off his mind, and it was driving him mad. It had only been a few days since he'd seen her and yet he was already wondering when he would have her in his arms again.

In truth, Draco had no idea what he was supposed to do next. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fallen for a woman like this – if he ever had – and the circumstances were hardly normal. He knew he still had to somehow atone for his past with her. Even if she didn't think it necessary, he knew it was. For the past three years Draco had carried a strong sense of the fact that he did not deserve happiness after everything he'd done. Hermione made him happy, which put him in a difficult situation. He wondered if perhaps he shouldn't just disappear. It would be better for both of them, really. She could do so much better than him. But every time the thought crossed his mind he found himself violently opposed to it.

"Still too selfish to do the right thing," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. Old habits did indeed die hard.

He wondered if Hermione was thinking about him the way he was thinking about her. She had seemed serious on Saturday night when she'd said that she wanted to know him more, but she'd just been through an ordeal with Elijah – would she still mean what she told him now that she was distanced from the situation?

Draco's hands curled into fists when he thought of what Elijah had tried to do to his Hermione. No – he corrected himself quickly – not _his _Hermione. For all of the evil he'd done in his life; for all of the evil he'd seen his father do to his mother, he had never made a woman do anything against her will. It made him sick to his stomach just thinking about it. Taking a deep breath, he tried to let the anger go. Hermione was safe, the crisis had been averted. Slowly, his hands relaxed.

lllllllllll

Hermione had only just begun her rounds in section C when she heard a familiar voice down the corridor.

"Help! Please, we need a Healer. Someone help!"

Harry.

Tearing down the hall, Hermione found her best friend slumped against a wall, supporting a bloodied man who seemed to be having trouble breathing. His body was laced with deep gashes and covered in bruises. The sight almost made Hermione ill, but she steeled herself.

"Hermione," Harry gasped, "It's Ron …"

There was no time for the flood of emotions that filled Hermione when she realized that the bleeding man before her was Ron Weasley. She needed to act, and she needed to act now. She pressed her wand against her throat and announced that all available Healers were needed in Corridor 19 at the end of section C. It was an emergency. Within moments of Harry and Ron's arrival, at least six more Aurors appeared with similar wounds, all being supported by their colleagues. The Healers flew into action.

Hermione's mentor, Absalom, was next to her in moments as she transported Ron into the closest room and more Healers began to deal with the others.

"Granger," he said, "What do we have?"

"Male," Hermione said, "Twenty years of age. An Auror. He was hit by the same curse as the others – deep gashes, bruising, trouble breathing." She turned to Harry, who was still in the room, "What the hell happened?"

"We don't know what the curse is," Harry replied, his voice shaking, "We were taking down a covert cell of Death Eaters near Brighton and they started throwing this at us. We got out of their as fast as we could – no one could identify the curse, it was too dangerous to stay."

"So we're dealing with something unknown," Absalom remarked, "Okay. Son, I need you to leave the room."

Harry looked like he was about to object, but changed his mind.

"You have to save him, Hermione," he said, emotion choking his voice. And then he was gone.

"The next thirty minutes will be pivotal," Absalom continued, "We need to stop the current bleeding and ascertain whether or not this curse produces constant blood loss. If it does, we'll need transfusions. How many other cases of this are there?"

"At least six," Hermione replied, "I don't understand it – we've never seen this before. How do we fix it?"

She stared at Ron and tried to stop the emotions swelling in her chest. She had loved him for so long, and now his life was hanging in the balance. More to the point, she could be the difference between whether he lived or died.

"Granger!" Absalom's voice brought her out of her thoughts, "Damn it, if you can't handle this I'll find a more experienced Healer who can."

"No," Hermione said immediately, "No. I can do it. Trust me."

Absalom nodded in approval, "That's my girl."

Hermione had never felt so much pressure in her life. Even when they were fighting in the war, she had never been directly responsible for the life of another. She'd dealt with serious curses in her time at St. Mungo's, but she'd yet to come across a potentially fatal case that had no known cure. To begin, she performed an enchantment to open up Ron's airways, allowing him to breath more easily. She could tell immediately when he coughed up blood that they were in more trouble than she'd realized.

"Absalom," she said, her voice shaking.

"What is it?"

"The bleeding," Hermione said, motioning to Ron's mouth, "It's internal as well."

Absalom stopped sealing up Ron's external wounds and stood next to Hermione to study his nose and mouth.

"That's it," Hermione muttered, "that's it. You're healing the wounds on his skin, it's the internal that we have to worry about. I think that's the entire point of the curse – the idea is that anyone trying to heal the victim will be so concerned about what's going on externally, they won't even think about the inside until it's too late."

Hermione stared at the man lying on the bed in front of her, not even bother to decipher everything she was feeling. He simply couldn't die. She wouldn't allow it. She was Hermione Granger, damn it, the smartest new Healer in St. Mungo's. There was a solution to this. A counter spell. She just had to figure it out.

"Well done, Granger," Absalom said, squeezing her shoulder,"I think you're right. And I know something that can slow the internal bleeding. Go tell the others what you've figured out."

It was difficult to leave Ron's side, but Hermione ducked out of the door and went quickly from room to room, explaining the problem. Many of the more experienced Healers possessed the same knowledge as Absalom, and set about slowing the bleeding. If she found Healers who weren't sure how to proceed, Hermione went back to find one who did. She herself wasn't familiar with the method Absalom was talking about, but she trusted him. Ron was in good hands.

In one of the last rooms she entered, she found Elijah, who was working with Darius on a woman who appeared to be in her thirties, still bleeding profusely.

"The external bleeding will stop if you perform a sealing enchantment," she explained breathlessly, "But there's internal bleeding. That's what you have to worry about. That's why they're all having trouble breathing. Do you know the procedure to slow it down?"

Elijah looked confused, but Darius nodded confidently. "I know it. Thank you."

Hermione gave him a tight smile and left the room, heading back in the direction she'd come. She was less than halfway down the hall when she felt a hand on her arm.

"Hermione –" she turned to see that the hand belonged to Elijah. He was looking at her intensely.

"We need to talk about Saturday night," he said firmly, "I was out of line. I don't know what I was thinking. I wanted to offer you a formal apology."

"This is hardly the time, Elijah," Hermione said tersely, pulling her arm out of his grip, "Consider your apology accepted, but whatever was going on between us is over. Period. And if I ever find out that you tried that with another girl …" she took a step closer to him and narrowed her eyes, "I took down Death Eaters, Elijah. Taking care of you would be easy."

Without another word, she turned and walked away.

lllllllll

Draco had come to a decision. He was going to ask Hermione to come round to his flat for dinner. He was a decent cook, and he wanted to be with her somewhere away from the prying, judging eyes of the wizarding world. People were bound to talk if word of their relationship got out, and that was exactly what Draco wanted to avoid.

He mentally reprimanded himself. He and Hermione did not have a relationship. They had confusing feelings for one another that they needed to figure out. That was all. Expecting anything more would lead to disappointment. Draco wondered sometimes if he wasn't a glutton for punishment. Taking a deep breath, he pulled a bit of parchment out of a drawer in his bedroom and scribbled an invitation on it. Whatever night worked best for her, he said, because she had such a busy schedule.

He no longer had an owl, so he walked down to the nearest Post and paid the small bit required for one of their owls to deliver it. He did this as quickly as possible, because he knew that the longer he waited, the more he would second guess himself. The more he would remember that he didn't deserve this chance at happiness.

He wondered how long it would take for her to respond.

**A/N: Reviews are wonderful, I hope you enjoyed it!**


	8. A Date

**A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long since I last updated! I hope you enjoy the new chapter. **

Hermione was exhausted by the time she got back to her apartment. She'd been on duty for over 48 hours straight, and every part of her was screaming for sleep. Admittedly, she could have gone home after the first day – Absalom had told her that. But the idea of leaving Ron when he was still in such an unstable condition, when there was still a chance that he could … If things took a turn for the worse, Hermione wanted to be there.

And so she's stayed. Other healers had clocked out, gone home, been replaced by new ones who were informed of the situation. All of the Aurors seemed to be in the same condition. The internal bleeding had been stopped, but there was no way to know exactly how much had occurred. It was nerve wracking, and Hermione felt as though there had never been a moment when she wasn't on edge.

But then, toward midnight last night, things had started to look up. Ron regained consciousness, and his breathing began to seem a little less shallow. By 3 am Hermione finally felt confident that he was going to live, and at 5 am she finally apparated home. She was told that she would have the next three days off, and the news came as a wonderful relief. The past two days had not only tested her skills as a healer, they had tested her feelings for Ron. Most specifically, whether or not she still had any. Hermione still didn't quite understand herself, but she supposed that it hardly mattered. She and Ron were over. Would she always care about him? Of course. Especially if his life hung in the balance. But as for whether or not she was still in love with him …. Well, she felt confident in saying that the answer was no.

It was with that thought on her mind that Hermione quietly entered her apartment, shrugged out of her scrubs, and collapsed into her warm, soft bed. She was asleep within seconds.

llllllllllll

Draco sat at the table in his shabby kitchen, a piece of parchment in front of him and a quill in his hand. Surrounding him were at least ten other bits of paper, all containing his various attempts at politely inviting Hermione to dinner. None of them worked. None of them felt right.

Taking a deep breath, he started on attempt number eleven.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I know we haven't seen each other since that night in the alley, but I would really like to change that. Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow night around 8? I would love to see you._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco_

Finally satisfied with his message, Draco folded the parchment up neatly and slid it into his pocket. It was early yet, but the owl post office should be open. Draco didn't have an owl of his own, and so was reduced to spending a few knuts to have one of the post owls at the office deliver his letter for him. They were shabby birds on the whole, and often took longer than they should with message delivery. But Draco didn't really have another option outside of showing up on Hermione's doorstep – and whether he would admit it or not, that thought actually made him incredibly nervous.

The shops on Diagon Alley were just beginning to open when Draco stepped out into the cold morning air. A strangely peaceful scene greeted him as the rising sun shed pinkish light on the streets, and he felt an almost boyish happiness in his heart. He couldn't remember ever feeling that before, or at least, it was something he hadn't felt in years. Feeling foolish for the smile that unwittingly came to his face, Draco bundled his scarf more tightly around his neck and started off to mail his letter.

llllllllll

Hermione didn't know how long she slept, but when she awoke there was the same hazy light coming through the windows that had been there when she first arrived home from the hospital. Glancing at the clock on her nighstand, she saw that it was past six in the evening. Shrugging at the time, she rolled over and snuggled back under the covers. Bed. What an utterly wonderful word. She felt as though she could remain forever wrapped in her soft blankets. The idea definitely held a certain appeal.

She dozed for another hour before finally getting up and shrugging on a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt. It hardly mattered, she decided, as she wouldn't be seeing anyone that evening. Padding into the living room, she collected the muggle mail from the slot in her front door. A lot of it seemed to have accumulated over two days' time, most of which were bills. Her salary as a healer was paid in galleons and sickles, but she could easily exchange it for muggle money for necessities like paying rent, water and heat. Not many wizards chose to live in the muggle world, but the ministry was understanding of those who did, and tried to make existence convenient for them. Hermione was grateful for that – she couldn't imagine how it would have been back when Fudge was minister, but surely he wouldn't have been nearly as accommodating.

A cool draft tickled Hermione arm, and she turned to see that her window was slightly ajar. Going over to it she realized that a letter had been tucked into it. Owl post, of course, and she must not have heard the bird knocking on the window while she was sleeping. Sliding the letter out, Hermione shut the window securely against the bitter wind.

The return address on the letter was not one she recognized, and Hermione opened it curiously. When she unfolded the paper, she couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at her lips.

Draco had asked her on a date.

Just then, she heard a loud knock on the apartment door.

"Hermione? Hermione are you in there?"

The familiar and slightly panicked voice of Ginny rang out through the apartment, and Hermione quickly crossed the room to open the door.

"Oh thank goodness," Ginny pulled Hermione into a rib-crushing hug the moment she saw her.

"Well … hi Ginny, it's nice to see you too."

"I've been worried about you!" Ginny exclaimed, sliding off her window boots and coat without waiting for Hermione to tell her it was acceptable. They were perfectly at home in each other's apartments, even if this visit was a bit of a surprise.

"Worried? About me?"

Ginny plopped down on her couch, and Hermione joined her.

"Harry came home from St. Mungo's two days ago covered in blood. He explained what happened, and about Ron, and –"

Hermione cut her off immediately, "Ginny, I'm so sorry you haven't been able to see him. They told me you tried, but it wasn't safe. He wasn't stable and we didn't know if it might make things worse, I should have told you myself but I was just so busy…"

Trailing off, Hermione cast a glance at her friend to see if she was upset. Ginny simply shook her head.

"I'm not angry with you Hermione, you saved his life! Even if he is a stupid git. I wouldn't have trusted him with any other healer. I got to see him today actually, finally. It was such a relief," Ginny paused for a moment, "But once I knew he was ok, Harry and I asked after you. The other healers all said you'd left ages ago, so we came here. But we knocked and knocked and no one answered the door. We got worried that maybe after everything with Ron, after being put in the situation you were in. Well …. We were worried you'd done something stupid."

Hermione let out a short laugh, "I was just sleeping, Gin. I'd been up for two days. I must have slept through all your knocking and yelling."

Ginny looked relieved. "Well now that I know that you and my brother are both okay, I guess I can relax."

She gave an exaggerated sigh and sunk into the couch. Hermione did the same, her body still tired from being on her feet for so long.

"So," Hermione said after a moment of silence, "Did Harry send you over here to make sure everything was all right?"

Ginny shrugged, "We both came over here the first few times to see if you were around. He told me I was on my own this time, as he was certain that you were just fine and simply not here. I didn't believe him," a small smile crept onto Ginny's face, "Looks like I'm the one who will get to say I told you so."

Hermione laughed, part of her envying Ginny and Harry's relationship. They were so good together – hanging out with them back when she was dating Ron had been absolutely wonderful. The four of them were inseparable. The perfect dynamic. She still spent time with them now, of course, and she knew Ron did too. But things would never be the same.

Getting up, Hermione offered Ginny some tea and went to put the kettle on. It occurred to her that now would probably be a good time to bring up the fact that she had a date with Draco Malfoy. Or at least, she would have a dated with him once she responded to his owl.

"Ginny," she said conversationally, turning on the stove top, "Would you mind if I borrowed Thatcher tonight to send a letter?"

"Not at all," Ginny replied, "I'll send him over when I get home."

"Thanks."

Hermione breathed a silent sigh of relief that Ginny hadn't asked why she needed the owl that she and Harry kept at their place. Eventually, if things with Draco went well, Hermione knew she'd have to come clean about it. But for now he was just a man who had asked her on their first date. Just a man who had kissed her senseless more than once. Just a man ….

Who was she kidding. Draco wasn't "just" anything.

llllllllllll

Later that night, Hermione wrote a note and tied it to Thatcher's leg, giving him the return address of Draco's apartment. The letter was simple, and she could already feel excitement welling up inside of her. Excitement that she should try to contain, she knew. It was dangerous to get her hopes up. It was even more dangerous to trust Draco Malfoy.

But that didn't stop her from scribbling a response to him long after the sun went down, and sending it off with a command to Thatcher to deliver it quickly.

The response was short. It simply said: _I'd love to._

**A/N: Looks like Draco and Hermione have a date. Do you suppose Draco cooks?  
>Please review! <strong>


	9. Taking it Slow

**A/N: Gah! So long since my last update. I don't have a good excuse, but I promise you this chapter will be juicy! Fair warning, this is where the "T" rating comes into play …**

Hermione fumbled through her closet, trying desperately to decide on what to wear for her date with Draco. She had to laugh at herself a little bit – not so long ago she had been doing the exact same thing before her date with Elijah. Somehow, though, she had a feeling that this night would turn out better than that one.

Dinner with Draco Malfoy. At his apartment. Hermione found herself giggling at the idea of Draco actually cooking. Oven mits on, a casserole in the oven … for some reason this image included Draco in a pink frilly apron, and Hermione laughed even harder. She wondered if she wasn't perhaps a bit hysterical. Maybe her nerves were getting to her. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, tonight was a big deal.

Tonight, if it went well, would mark the beginning of a new chapter for her, and for Draco. It would also be the start of a very long journey. Hermione knew it wouldn't be easy to explain the relationship to her friends, and she was even a little bit afraid that she would lose them. But surely, once they spent time with Draco, they would see exactly what she saw. A changed man. Still broken, yes, but changed. Even if he didn't realize it himself.

After three different outfits, Hermione finally decided on a pair of dark jeans and a burgundy cowl neck sweater.

"Perfect," she said to herself, rotating in front of the mirror after putting on her jewelry, "I don't think it looks like I'm trying too hard."

Hermione wasn't sure why she was trying to convince herself of this fact. Of course she was trying hard. She'd spent ten minutes putting on make-up that usually took her five, and she was wearing a pair of black high heels. Hermione never wore heels. She also went to the trouble of spritzing herself with the small bottle of perfume Ginny had gotten her for her last birthday. Hermione could tell it had been expensive, and she only used it on special occasions. Tonight definitely qualified.

Glancing at the clock, she let out a groan. It was only 7:30. Even with the extra time she'd taken to get ready, she was still ahead of schedule. As excited as she was to see Draco, she would just feel pathetic showing up this early. With a frustrated sigh, Hermione flopped herself on the couch in her living room, flipping on the television and settling for a mind-numbing sitcom to pass the time. She checked the clock every five minutes; as soon as it approached 8, she grabbed her purse and apparated on the spot.

llllllllll

Draco Malfoy was nervous. He felt utterly ridiculous for being nervous over a woman, and couldn't actually remember the last time – if ever – he'd felt this way. It was absurd, he decided, and he needed to stop this instant. Everything was going to be great. He might be a little bit rusty, but he was still Draco Malfoy. He'd charmed more girls than he cared to remember, and he reminded himself firmly that there was no way he'd lost his touch. Hermione would have a wonderful time with him tonight. He would make sure of it.

The meal was simple enough, a stir fry that he had made himself. His apartment hardly had much of a kitchen, but it did have a stove top, and Draco had found that he could be quite creative with limited resources. It occurred to him at that moment that he'd never found out what kind of food Hermione liked. What if she hated stir fry? What if she was a vegetarian and he accidentally offended her? Draco could feel his blood pressure rising.

"Oh for the love of God, man, get it together," he said aloud, shaking his head at himself. This was truly pathetic.

He should have known he was in trouble when he changed his shirt six times before deciding on the dark green one that he now wore. He should have known he was in trouble when he spent an hour in the wine shop down the street trying to decide whether he should get red or white, before finally deciding on both. He definitely should have known he was in trouble when he received Hermione's response to his invitation late last night, and the words "I'd love to" made his heart skip a beat. Draco was falling hard, and it worried him.

Feelings were not something that had ever been openly displayed by Malfoy men. In his household, Draco's mother was the only one to openly show affection. It seemed strained and false sometimes, but Narcissa did her best to infuse the house with something that, at times, almost resembled love. It wasn't a normal sort of family love, but it was something, and Draco had always been grateful to her for that.

A certain sense of stoicism combined with Draco's personal opinion of himself was what kept him so worried. He just didn't understand how Hermione – wonderful, beautiful, brilliant Hermione – could actually want to be with him. The guilt over what he'd once done to her, and what he'd once done to the entire wizarding world, was enough to make him sick. Draco still hated himself most of the time, despite the three years he'd spent trying to forget. To become numb. He'd even wondered after he first kissed Hermione if this wasn't his subconscious trying to somehow atone for what he'd done. Making Hermione happy would count for something, wouldn't it? It was only when he kissed her again that he realized their attraction had nothing to do with his guilt. And yet … he did not deserve her.

Taking a deep breath, Draco shook the thoughts from his head. Nervously adjusting his rolled up shirtsleeves for the hundredth time, he reminded himself to remain calm. Hermione had agreed to his invitation. She wanted to see him. That had to mean that at least, on some level, there was some part of him that could still be good.

A few minutes after 8, he heard a knock on the door.

llllllllll

Approximately one second after Hermione knocked on the door of Draco's apartment, she realized that she had arrived empty handed.

"Oh bugger," she muttered. Wasn't it usually polite to at least show up with a bottle of wine? Digging around in her purse, Hermione found a small bottle of hand lotion. Muttered a vaguely complicated incantation, she transfigured it into a decent bottle of red wine. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. A moment later, Draco opened the door.

"Hermione," he said, a genuine smile spreading over his face, "Please, come in."

He opened the door wider and motioned her inside. Hermione looked around, and found herself rather surprised at how pleasant the space actually was. A sofa, arm chair, and coffee table were facing the fireplace, which stood on the same wall as the front door. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, and it gave the room a pleasant glow. The kitchen was separated from the living room only by a counter, and the door to what Hermione assumed to be Draco's bedroom was across the hall. There was not much in the way of personal decoration, but then again Hermione supposed that Draco wouldn't really want to be putting up framed family photographs. There were a few pieces of artwork on the walls, and one painting that Hermione was quite sure must be expensive, but she didn't ask about those. Her eyes surveyed the apartment in seconds before she returned her gaze to Draco. He was looking at her nervously, as though waiting to hear her appraisal.

"I really like this place," she said genuinely, and relief flooded his face.

"Thanks. I'm not much for interior decorating, but I'm actually pretty happy with how it's coming along."

Hermione nodded, suddenly remembering the wine in her hand, "This is for you," she said, handing it over to him and suddenly feeling awkward. She was on a date with Draco Malfoy, thrusting a bottle of wine toward him. Merlin's pants, before the Elijah fiasco she couldn't even remember the last time she'd been on a date.

"Thanks," Draco said, "I'll pour us each a glass, shall I?"

Hermione answered with a smile and followed him over to the kitchen area, where he magicked two glasses from the cupboard and bewitched the wine to pour itself. Hermione seated herself at one of the bar stools that stood along the counter, and offered Draco a nervous smile.

"I have to admit," she said, after a moment of silence, "That I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."

Draco barked a laugh, and Hermione immediately felt relieved.

"You?" He asked, shaking his head, "I've been practically paralyzed with the fear that I'm just going to make a complete prat of myself."

"Looks like we're two peas in a pod," Hermione remarked, taking the glass of wine he offered her from across the counter.

Draco shook his head, "I still can't believe you agreed to this, you know. If I were you I'd still want to hex me into next week after … after everything."

He looked down at the floor, and Hermione moved over to stand in front of him, lifting his chin gently with her hand. He was a head taller than her, but somehow the proportioning seemed perfect.

"You know I've forgiven you for that," she said quietly, "Now you just have to forgive yourself."

"But," she added, a bit more cavalierly, "If you're just going to mope, Mr. Malfoy, I'm going to take my mediocre wine and prance right back out the door. So if that's what you want …."

Hermione made a move to grab the bottle of wine, and Draco playfully swatted her hand away.

"Well we couldn't have that now, could we?" He asked, "I mean … I'd hate to lose the wine."

"Of course you would," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes.

Draco put the bottle back on the counter.

"I'd also hate to lose you," he said in a low voice. His arm snaked around Hermione's waist, and he put down his glass of wine. Hermione could feel her body practically humming at being this close to Draco. She realized – though she didn't let the thought remain for long – that she had never felt this way with Ron. Never felt this sort of electricity. She wondered if she could trust it.

"Draco," she whispered, not sure what she was going to say next. Her hand found the counter, and she put down her glass.

"I don't want to move this too fast," he said, gently sliding his hand along her face, "But I do want you, Hermione. You have to know that."

Hermione shivered, knowing it had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. Without another thought, she wrapped her arms around Draco's neck and kissed him. It was impossible to resist. Impossible to have his muscled body so close to hers without wanting to be closer. His hands tightened around her, and she felt as though her body was melting into his. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him closer. He responded, biting her lower lip before sliding his tongue into her mouth. Hermione let out a small moan, surprising even herself. Where was her carefully constructed self-control? Where was the wall that she should be putting up right now to protect herself? It was so hard to remember those things in Draco's arms.

At that moment, a strange smell met Hermione's nose. Smoke.

"Draco!" she gasped, pulling herself away from him. The skillet on the stove top was beginning to smoke, and it smelled as though the metal was burning.

"Oh bugger!" Draco let go of her, grabbing the skillet and turning off the burner. He quickly opened the window above the sink and began to fan the smoke out with a dish towel. Hermione was surprised by how quickly she missed his touch, but took a moment to collect herself. The cold winter air from the window helped her get her bearings. She picked up her glass of wine and took a deep drink. Whatever had just happened …. well, she needed to maintain control. Of herself, and of the situation. She couldn't let herself slip too fast.

"Well," Draco said, turning to face her with a sigh, "I feel like a complete and utter ass."

Hermione approached the contents of the skillet, and was fairly certain that it used to be stir fry.

"We could still make a valiant attempt to eat it," she remarked, giving him a smile, "I don't know about you, but I've faced worse than this."

Draco laughed and rolled his eyes, "I really can cook, you know. I promise you that. I was going to impress you with my culinary skills, we were going to have a romantic evening in front of the fire-"

He was silenced with a kiss from Hermione.

"Romantic is what you make it," she remarked, giving him a smile, "And for the record, I've always liked pizza."

lllllll

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting on the floor of Draco's apartment with a box of pepperoni pizza between them. Hermione knew a great place in muggle London, and she and Draco had apparated there and ordered what was, quite frankly, the best pizza Draco had ever had. Not that he'd eaten much of it in his lifetime. He had enjoyed the experience of ordering it though. He and Hermione seemed to get along so easily, laughing and talking lightly while they waited in line. Draco liked being in the muggle world. No one recognized him there, and certainly no one would say anything about how shocking it was that he was in the company of Hermione. They were just two normal people, holding hands in a pizza shop.

"Well this is hardly the evening I pictured," he remarked, sitting on the floor of the living room and taking a moment to levitate another log onto the fire, "But I have to say, it's pretty great."

Hermione smiled, "Of course it is. Did you ever have any doubts?"

"The whole burning our dinner to cinders thing did have me a little worried."

"Well, what first date is ever perfect?"

Draco smiled at the beautiful woman across from him, her eyes shining in the firelight. And suddenly, he found himself asking a question.

"What happened between you and Ron?"

Her eyes dimmed, and he immediately regretted asking her.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that. I just knew that back and school, and after the war …"

"He decided he didn't want me anymore," Hermione said with a shrug. Draco could tell her nonchalance was practiced. "He wasn't ready to be serious about things, so I walked away. Which was best for both of us, really. And I can't say I was terribly surprised," she looked down, pulling at a stray bit of carpet, "I guess he just got bored with me."

Draco shook his head, "How could anyone ever get bored of you, Hermione?"

She let out a short laugh, "You haven't really known me for that long, Draco. For all you know, you're going to get bored too."

Draco felt a stab of pain at how quickly she discounted herself. "You're not the kind of girl someone gets bored with. You're the kind of girl someone realizes is too good for them. I've known you for years, Hermione. Just as long as weasel, more or less."

Hermione smiled at the old name Draco used to call Ron.

"And anyway," he said, "Do you know why I always picked on you? It wasn't so much about stupid prejudices. That was part of it, and I'm ashamed of that, but it wasn't the whole reason. You fascinated me, you know. You were the only girl in school I couldn't figure out. You were always better than the rest of them, Hermione."

Taking another slow drink of wine, Hermione turned to him.

"Thank you for saying that," she said, "Whether it's true or not."

"I swear to you it is. You have no reason to trust me, Hermione, I know that. The one way to prove to you that you can is if you give me time. But I won't let you down. Whatever is going on between us …" Draco took a deep breath, wondering why he was going against all of his rules of keeping his feelings to himself, "Whatever is going on, it's not something I've ever felt with another girl. I don't deserve to feel as happy as I am when I'm with you, but I'm too selfish to stay away and let you have someone better for you."

Hermione sighed and shook her head, "You need to stop thinking you're not good enough, Draco. Who you are now, he's more than enough. You've made your mistakes, you have your scars. But you're a good man. I know you are."

Draco moved closer to Hermione. "If you keep telling me that," he said, taking her face in his hands, "I may start to believe you."

Without another word, he kissed her.

There was something about kissing Hermione that felt so different to Draco than any other woman he'd ever kissed. Everything about her was soft and inviting. He rolled on top of her carefully, making sure to keep the brunt of his weight off of her small body. Her hands roamed his back, and she pulled him closer to her, wrapping her legs around him.

llllllll

Hermione pressed her body hard against Draco's and let out a moan. His mouth moved from her lips to her throat, and she shuddered in pleasure. How long had it been since she'd wanted someone like this? Had she ever? Impatiently, she tugged at his shirt, cursing the neat row of buttons that kept it on his body. Draco understood immediately what she was doing. Sitting up, he undid the buttons quickly and pulled off his shirt. Hermione touched his bare chest, wondering if she looked as in awe as she felt. He was incredible. Beautiful, even.

"Now this isn't fair," Draco said in a husky voice, "I took off my shirt…."

Hermione smiled at him, and quickly tugged her sweater off over her head, leaving nothing but a black bra. Draco pulled her up from the floor before his lips crushed hers again, his hands cool on the skin of her back. His mouth was rough with need, and Hermione responded eagerly, taking a break only to bit his ear and kiss his neck, enjoying the groan she elicited.

"I want you," she whispered into his ear.

"Oh God, Hermione…" Draco's voice faded, and he unclasped her bra quickly, picking her up and allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist. All Hermione could think was that she wanted more. More of this, more of him. She wanted all of it. In the back of her mind, she vaguely remembered Draco saying something about wanting to take this slow. Her mind understood his logic, but her body had other ideas. For once, Hermione Granger did not want to listen to what her brain was telling her.

Draco spun her around so her back was against the wall, his hands exploring her body. Hermione bit her lip and let out a gasp, kissing him harder. She knew they should probably find their way to his bedroom. The denim jeans they wore, the only thing between them … she was going to rip them off herself soon enough.

It was then that her wand began to buzz on Draco's kitchen counter. Hermione stared at it, willing it to stop. If her wand was buzzing, it meant there was an emergency at the hospital. It meant she had to go. And leaving was not something that Hermione wanted to do any time soon.

The wand continued to buzz, and took on a strange glow of it's own. Yes, she was going to have to go. Hermione cursed in her head. Why the hell had she ever wanted to be a Healer anyway?

"Draco," she said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears, "Draco … I have to go."

"Are we moving too fast?" Draco asked, still holding her between himself and the wall, "Nevermind. That's a stupid question. Of course we're moving too fast. I'm sorry Hermione, I –"

Hermione laughed, "It's not that," she assured him quickly, "It's definitely not that. It's my wand. It's buzzing, and that means I'm being called into St. Mungo's. I have to go."

Draco put her down gently, turning to glare at her wand for it's inopportune timing.

Hermione collected herself within a few moments, and turned to face Draco with regret on her face.

"I want nothing more than to stay," she remarked. He crossed the room to her in a few strides.

"I want you to stay, too," he said, kissing her gently, "Next time though, I promise, we'll have a proper date."

Hermione smiled, "I don't know," she said, "This was a lot more fun than a proper date…."

And with that, she apparated to St. Mungo's.

**A/N: I promise the next chapter will be up soon. Reviews are always appreciated! **


	10. Confessions

**AN: Almost a month since my last update. *****hides in shame*****. Forgive me, gentle readers.  
>Without further ado…<strong>

When Hermione was called back to St. Mungo's from her date with Draco, she had expected to arrive and find the place in chaos. Why else would they be calling her in? Surely something had gone wrong – maybe another Death Eater attack. Hermione shuddered at the thought.

But strangely, the corridors were quiet. There were plenty of healers going on rounds or talking with the nurses who manned the desks, but nothing seemed out of place. No one was panicking. Hermione supposed there must have been some sort of mistake, and was just about to apparate back to Draco's apartment to finish what they'd started, when Healer Absalom found her.

"Hermione! Thank goodness," he grabbed her arm and led her down the corridor, "I honestly wasn't sure what to do – I've never had a patient act like this before. But he's delirious with fever, and he kept shouting for you. The strain he's putting on himself isn't good for his condition, and the calming drafts are having no effect. The only way to calm him, I think, is to have you here."

Absalom explained all this while he led her down the hall, and when he stopped in front of the door to a patient's room, Hermione finally realized who he was talking about.

Ron was lying in bed, a pained look on his face. He was drenched in sweat, and a few nurses were trying to calm him down as he thrashed in his bed.

"Just let me TALK to her!" he was yelling, "Is she okay? Does Bellatrix have her again?"

In an instant, Hermione was taken back to Malfoy Manor three years before, screaming in pain while Harry and Ron had been helpless in the basement dungeon. She realized that, for some reason, Ron thought they were still there. His fever had unhinged him. Hermione felt no anger toward him as she hurried to his bedside and took his hand. She quietly dismissed the nurses, promising that she could take care of this. When Ron saw her looking down at him, his eyes immediately focused.

"You're all right," he choked out, his voice sounding hoarse, "She didn't kill you."

"Of course not, Ron," she replied, placing a damp cloth on his forehead, "Everyone is all right. There's nothing to worry about anymore. You can rest now."

"But I want to talk to you," he said, swallowing with some difficulty, "I'm so sorry, Hermione. So incredibly sorry."

Hermione didn't know what he was talking about – if he still thought this was three years ago, and was apologizing for not having gotten to her sooner, or if his mind was back in the present. If, perhaps, he was apologizing for all that had happened between them. Either way, she knew the anger she used to feel for him wasn't there anymore. He was still a man who had loved her, for awhile, with everything he had. In the end, it hadn't been enough to save them. But she knew she could not regret the time they'd spent together. She was relieved when Ron finally dozed off to sleep.

It was then, as she sat quietly at his bedside and held his hand, that Draco came walking into the room.

llllll

Draco wasn't ready for Hermione to leave when she apparated out of sight. But he supposed that, if he wanted a relationship with her, he would have to accept the fact that she did not have a normal job. Things like this were going to happen, and they would probably happen more often than he would like.

It had taken him only ten minutes after she'd gone to decided that he wanted to follow her to St. Mungo's. Even if she'd been called in on some emergency that would take all night, he could wait for her. Perhaps they could go to breakfast in the morning. Rather proud of himself for coming up with the idea, Draco turned on the spot and showed up at the hospital seconds later.

"I'm looking for Healer Granger," he said to the plump witch sitting at the reception desk.

"Well I can tell you that she's here – called in on an emergency – but I couldn't tell you where. Even if I could though," she eyed him with distrust, "I wouldn't.

"Thank you for your help," Draco said sarcastically.

He turned as though he was going to walk out the door, but as soon as he was out of sight he found a hospital directory. He knew that Hermione worked in Corridor 19 most of the time, and he supposed that any emergency was likely to have happened there. Taking one last look at the floor plan, he made his way to where he hoped to find her.

It occurred to Draco, as he got closer to Corridor 19, that this might in fact not be such a great idea after all. Hermione could be in the middle of something dreadfully important, and his interruption could cause a serious problem. He was just beginning to think that he would do better to turn around and apparate home when he recognized the back of a head with a pixie style hair cut inside the room on his right. He opened the door quietly so as not to disturb her, and was shocked to see the man lying in the hospital bed. It was Ron Weasley, and Hermione was holding his hand.

"Hermione," Draco began, and she turned to him with a start.

"Draco," she hissed, "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," he replied, "I thought I could wait until you were done dealing with whatever the emergency was, and then we could go for breakfast or something," he eyed Ron's sleeping form warily, "But I see this might take longer than I expected."

"Oh Draco," Hermione said, frustration creeping into her voice, "This isn't at all what you're thinking it is. Ron was brought in here a few days ago – he and some of the other aurors suffered a horrible curse. We didn't recognize it, but I think we healed it … anyway, he had a fever, he was delirious. He kept calling for me. Healer Absalom thought it would be best-"

"Thought it would be best for you to come and comfort your beloved Weasley?" Draco practically spat the words. He knew he was overreacting, but he didn't care. Something about seeing Hermione with Ron made his blood boil. He had never experienced jealously before, but he was pretty sure this was what it felt like.

Hermione let go of Ron's hand gently, and stood to face Draco. "Yes, Draco. To comfort him. To get a delirious, fevered man to calm the hell down. _Because that is my job. _Did this take on a personal level? Yes. It did. But quite frankly I don't care if he's Ron Weasley or Neville Longbottom. As long as I do my job and fix what's wrong, it doesn't matter."

There were tears shining in Hermione's eyes, and Draco knew he'd upset her. And yet he couldn't bring himself to apologize. He knew he should, and yet he didn't want to. He was still too upset – too hurt, he supposed. And maybe it was because part of him still felt like Hermione belonged with someone like Ron. A man who had fought bravely on the right side of the war, and worked every day to catch more dark wizards. Maybe, he realized, he was even a little jealous of the man lying unconscious at the other end of the room.

"You deserve each other," he found himself saying.

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione snapped.

Draco sighed, "You're good, Hermione. You're brave and beautiful and wonderful. You deserve someone else who's good, too. Someone better than me."

"Oh Draco, will you just stop all of this self pity? You've punished yourself for three years. I think that's long enough. You've changed, you're a better man, and you have to deal with it. Stop looking for reasons to hate yourself. Do you have any idea how hard it is to love a man who doesn't love himself?"

Hermione had raised her voice now, but a sudden silence fell between them when she'd finished.

Love.

Draco wanted to believe he'd heard her correctly, but he couldn't possibly. How could a woman like her love a man like him? They hadn't even spent that much time together. And yet … as soon as she's said the words, his immediate reaction was to tell her that he loved her, too. That somehow he'd always loved her, and this was finally right. They were finally right.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said hurriedly, "I don't know where that came from. Please forget it."

"No," Draco said quietly.

"What do you mean, no?"

Draco took a step toward and put his hand gently on her cheek, "I won't forget you said that, Hermione. Even if it makes no sense. Even if a woman like you should love a better man than me. I won't forget you said it … because I love you, too."

**A/N: Ooh, that took a different direction than I was expecting. How did you like it? Reviews are welcome! Just two or three more chapters to go, but there will definitely be some surprises in store. **


	11. A Good Person

**A/N: Yay! I didn't make you wait an impossibly long time for the next update.**

The room was entirely silent, and it took Hermione only a few seconds to realize why that was wrong. She stood facing Draco, impossibly close to him. All she wanted to do at that moment was kiss him senseless. But the room was entirely silent, and that just wasn't right.

Hermione turned to face Ron, still lying asleep in his bed. But something was wrong. The detector charm monitoring his vital signs wasn't making the proper sounds. It wasn't making any sounds, to be specific.

"Oh my God," Hermione whispered. She grabbed her wand and stuck it to her throat.

"All healers to Corridor 19 immediately. This is an emergency. Check all patients brought in for the unknown curse. I repeat, this is an emergency."

Hermione had gone into work mode. Draco could have been nonexistent for all she knew. There was a life to save – possibly many lives, if this sort of thing was happening to all of the aurors affected by the curse. She bent and checked Ron's pulse. It was there, but barely. Within seconds the corridor was full of healers, each in different rooms, each yelling to the others about the problems their patient was having.

It was as Hermione had feared. Every auror struck with the curse was two steps from death – barely breathing, barely alive. Once again she found herself faced with the terrible idea of a world without Ron Weasley. A man she would always care for.

"What is it?" Draco asked, pulling her out of her frenzied activities.

"He's barely breathing. None of them are. Something isn't right – they came in a few days ago, bleeding horribly. All of them. But the real problem was internal. The external wounds were meant to distract us. I don't understand, they were all fine a moment ago…"

"Move," Draco's voice was harsh as he slid Hermione out of the way, careful not to hurt her. She watched as he examined Ron, unsure of why she should even let him. He was no healer, what could he possibly do to help? She might be wasting precious seconds by humoring him this way.

"Draco, you should go out to the waiting room. We can't afford to have anyone here right now who shouldn't be."

"I know what it is," the words were so quiet Hermione barely heard them.

"What?" she asked.

He turned to face her, "This curse. I know what it is. I can fix it. There is no counter-curse, but there's a potion. They have some time left – not much, but long enough that I think I can mix the cure. Where's the laboratory?"

Hermione stared at him, dumb-founded. Draco knew how to fix this? Part of her reasoned that yes, of course he did. In all of the time he'd spent surrounded by dark wizards, surely he had learned a thing or two.

"Hermione," Draco put his hand under her chin, raising her face to meet his, "Hermione, focus. Where's the laboratory?"

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Hermione managed to croak out, "Two floors down."

Draco flew out the door.

Putting her wand to her throat again, Hermione announced as clearly as she could that a cure was known, and currently being mixed by a consultant. She neglected to mention who the consultant was. The reaction wouldn't be good. But she trusted Draco. There really wasn't any other option.

llllll

The entire Weasley family, along with Harry, was sitting in the waiting room when Hermione came out to meet them. They looked worried sick, and she wondered for a moment just how much she should tell them – about how close Ron had been to death, and about the fact that Draco Malfoy was the one who saved him. But they should hear the truth, she decided, and so she took a deep breath and began to talk.

"Ron is all right," were the first words from her mouth. She was drowned in a sea of hugs and cries of joy.

"It wasn't me," she said, "I wasn't the one who saved him. I wouldn't have known what to do – none of the healers would have – but we got lucky."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked.

"There was someone here who knew the curse. He knew how to cure it. The problem is that it's not cured with a counter-curse, but rather with a potion. That's very rare, a very strange thing to do. But then again, no one would ever really think of trying a potion to cure a curse, would they?"

"Who was it, then?" George's voice rose up above the chatter.

"It was Draco Malfoy."

Hermione was prepared for the impact of the words. The entire family looked as if they'd been hit by a truck.

"He's back now," Hermione began, "He's been gone for three years … running away from things. Trying to punish himself for everything, I guess. But he came back, and he happened to be here today. And if he hadn't been …" she could feel the tears burning her eyes, "If he hadn't been, then Ron would be dead right now."

She could see the conflict in everyone's mind. Was the life of one loved one saved worth forgiveness? They loathed Draco, and yet he had stopped a curse from killing their son, their brother. Was it enough to earn forgiveness?

"You can go in and see him now," Hermione added, "I'm sure he'd love it."

One by one, they filed out of the room, hugging her and saying thank you, despite her insistence that she hadn't done much. It was only Ginny who really stopped.

"Hermione," she said in a quiet voice, "What exactly was Draco doing here?"

Hermione could feel herself blushing, "Now isn't the time to talk about it, Gin."

"Maybe not now, but …" Ginny gave her a smile and a wink, "You owe me a story."

"You mean … it wouldn't bother you? If he and I were, well I mean-"

Ginny shrugged, "It wouldn't be easy, Hermione. But people change. I've always believed that." She nodded toward her family, disappearing down the hall, "They might be a bit harder to convince, though."

Giving her friend a hug, Ginny hurried to join the rest of the Weasleys.

Once she was alone, Hermione sank against the wall in the waiting room. It seemed as though a thousand things had happened at once. The memory of Draco telling her he loved her came flooding back, and she couldn't help but smile.

"There you are."

The voice startled her, and she turned to see Draco coming down the hall. His hair was a mess, and he looked like hell. But Hermione couldn't have imagined a more welcome sight.

"You're a miracle worker, you know," she said, taking the hand he offered to help her up.

"Well, if by that you mean that some of my unsavory knowledge actually helped good people, then yeah. I guess."

Hermione smiled at him, "Be as modest and self-deprecating as you like, Mr. Malfoy. You did something good, because you're a good person. And that's all there is to it."

Draco pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her protectively, "I'm starting to think there's a chance you might be right," he said, and pressed a kiss on the crown of her head.

"Come on," he said after a moment of silence, "You must be exhausted."

"You must be, too," she countered.

"And so I think," Draco remarked, "that we should probably go to bed."

Hermione smiled, "That sounds like a wonderful idea."

With a pop, they both apparated back to Hermione's flat.

**A/N: Reviews are welcome! There will probably only be one or two more chapters, but stay tuned! **


	12. Someone Like You

**A/N: The final chapter! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed and added me to their story alert lists. Have a wonderful new year!**

"Hermione, I honestly don't think this is a good idea," Draco was standing in Hermione's kitchen, adjusting his tie and looking at his reflection in the microwave.

"They asked you to come," Hermione replied, stepping over to fix the tie for him, "This will be good, Draco. It's a step in the right direction."

"This" was a welcome home party for Ron that was being hosted by the Weasleys. Two weeks after Draco's knowledge of the curse had saved his life, he was finally coming home from the hospital. Much to Hermione's surprise, Mrs. Weasley had owled her and told her that they would like Draco to be there. She wasn't sure if Ron would feel the same way, but who was she to argue with Molly Weasley?

Hermione had found it odd that Molly got in touch with her regarding Draco, but it didn't take her long to figure out how that had happened. Ginny. The girl could keep a secret like a corpse, but when it came to something she thought people should know … well, she wasn't one to keep her mouth shut. When Hermione confronted her about it, Ginny had simple shrugged.

"I thought they should sort of be eased into the idea," she said, "So I figured they should at least know that you two are … friends. You're a good judge of character, Hermione. If they know _you _think Draco's turned over a new leaf, they'll be far more willing to believe it themselves."

It made sense, but Hermione still sat Draco down to talk about it before she made a commitment to Molly. His life had changed radically over the past few weeks. After he saved the lives of the Aurors affected by the curse, St. Mungo's had offered him a position as a Professional Consultant for Dark Magic Gone Awry. It was on an as-needed basis, and it was clear that he still made some of the healers very nervous, but Draco had jumped into the position with gusto, and Hermione felt prouder every time she looked at him. Facing down the workers at St. Mungo's was one thing, though. Facing down the Weasleys was another.

At the time of the invitation, Draco had thought it was a good idea – a way to begin to make up for the wrongs of his past. But now that the day had finally arrived, his courage seemed to be waning.

"What if Ron punches me?" He asked, "I mean, he's sort of scrawny. I could take him. But still…"

Hermione laughed, "I hardly think he'll punch you, Draco. He's barely able to get up and walk around. And I'm sure Molly told him you would be there. He owes you his life, whether he likes it or not – and if he really didn't want you there, Molly would have taken back the invitation."

Draco looked slightly reassured. "How do I look?" he asked, stepping back and holding out his arms.

"You're perfect," Hermione replied. And he did. She wondered if she would ever get tired of looking at him, and figured that the answer was probably no.

"Far from it," Draco replied with a rueful smirk, "But you…"

He didn't finish his sentence, but instead crossed the short distance between them and swept Hermione into his arms, covering her mouth with a kiss. Hermione knew they were in dangerous territory – once she got started with Draco, it was hard to stop herself. And they were going to be late.

"Later," she said breathlessly, pulling herself away from him, "You don't want to be late, do you?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "I think this would be an excellent reason to be late."

He moved toward her again, but Hermione put her hand on his chest to stop him, "No," she said jokingly, wagging her finger at him as though he was a dog.

Giving an aggravated sigh, Draco relented. "All right," he said, "To be continued."

"And remember," Hermione said as they prepared to apparate, "For the afternoon, we're just friends. I wouldn't want anyone dying of shock just as Ron is getting better."

"Right," Draco replied. Then an ounce of insecurity crept into his voice, "I don't have to … worry about this, do I? You and Ron seeing each other again. I mean, you did save his life. And you two were together for awhile…"

Hermione turned to Draco, placing her hand softly on his face, "You have absolutely nothing to worry about," she said softly, "You're the only man I want to be with."

Draco relaxed, and Hermione smiled at him.

"Off we go?" she asked.

"Off we go," he replied.

llllllll

A large banner emblazoned with the words "Welcome Home Ron" hung across the front door of the burrow, blowing in the cool winter air. Hermione couldn't help but smile when she saw it. Getting through everything with Ron had been difficult – almost impossible – but she couldn't imagine a world without him.

"In we go," she said, giving Draco's hand a squeeze.

Inside, as usual, it was chaos. Molly was busily waving plates this way and that with her wand, Harry was trying (and failing) to help Ginny finish the cake, and the rest of the Weasley clan was running around like a group of chickens with their heads cut off. Ron was easy enough to spot, because he was the only person who wasn't moving. Instead, he sat on the couch, watching all of the activity with a joyful smile on his face.

"Ron," Hermione said, hurrying over to him, "How are you feeling?"

She leaned down and gave him a hug, relieved to see that he really did look as though he was getting healthier.

"I'm okay Hermione, thanks," Ron replied, giving her an uncertain smile, "Harry told me about everything you did for me while I was at St. Mungo's, and I just …" He paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, Hermione. About everything … Friends?" He asked finally.

Hermione smiled, "Friends. But I wasn't the one who saved your life, you know, in the end. It was Draco."

She motioned for Draco, who had been doing his best to blend into the wall, to come over to the couch.

"Hey," Draco said, "I'm glad you're doing better."

"Yeah," Ron said, "Yeah. My mum told me that you were the one who … figured it out."

He stuck out his hand, "Thanks."

Draco shook it, "You're welcome."

Hermione beamed at the two of them, "Well good," she said, "It doesn't appear that anyone is going to hex anyone else. Come on Draco, we should see if Molly needs help with anything. Ron, are you all right?"

"Actually," he said, "I think I'll just take my seat of honor at the table if you wouldn't mind giving me a hand."

Hermione helped Ron up, and he leaned lightly on her as they walked over to the table.

"So, Draco Malfoy saved my life?" Ron asked quietly, "Never thought that day would come."

Hermione shrugged, "He's changed, Ron. Trust me. Everything that happened … he can't undo it, but he's trying his best to make things right."

Ron nodded, "Well, at least he's trying. But I don't have to like him."

Hermione gave a small laugh, "No, no you don't. But you could try."

She helped Ron sit down in his chair, and turned to find Draco putting the finishing touches on the cake. Ginny was looking on, clearly impressed by his handiwork. Harry was glowering in the corner.

"Sorry sweetheart," Ginny said, giving him an apologetic smile, "It's just that the finer points of frosting a cake seem to have alluded you."

"They don't allude _him_," Harry replied.

Draco laughed, "If frosting a cake is the only skill I have to be proud of, I'm pretty sure you're still winning this one Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes, but a small smile crept onto his lips. Ginny looked at Hermione and winked.

"I knew this wouldn't be so bad," she whispered, passing by Hermione to put the cake on the table.

"All right, everyone, all right. Let's eat!" Molly announced. They all took their seats at the table, and Hermione felt her heart swell as she looked at the beloved faces around her.

"I would like to propose a toast," Molly said, "To Ronald. We're so lucky to have you in our lives, sweetheart. And to you, Draco. It's been a long, difficult road for you, I'm sure. But my son wouldn't be alive without you."

Hermione raised her glass enthusiastically, and everyone offered a "cheers". Judging by the faces of the people sitting around her, they were all in varying stages of accepting Draco as someone good, someone who could be part of their lives. She hoped that eventually, they would see him the way she did.

"I told you everything would go well," she whispered, squeezing his hand under the table.

"I'm finally starting to believe it," Draco replied, giving her a smile, "Especially now that I have someone like you."

** The End**


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